Family Man
by croOKed-aura
Summary: A series of shorts, depicting the life of Vegeta, Prince of Saiyans, and his struggles in learning how to become a husband, father, and family man.
1. How To Have a Daughter

**A/N: I own nothing but the plot. enjoy! (read the note at the bottom for more info on the story)**

* * *

The first time his mate was pregnant, he stayed away. Granted, he had a good reason to, training to combat the Androids and all. He wouldn't have been able to afford the time to properly care for her, and if were to be completely honest with himself, back then, he didn't really want to.

Now, however, was a different story. He couldn't use the weak excuse of training; Majin Buu had been defeated, Earth was enjoying a time of peace, and worst of all, he had to be there this time due to that idiot Earthling contract he had so stupidly signed exactly four years ago, one month after his second resurrection from death.

Bulma had pestered him about it, that contract. She, on the other hand, referred to it as a "marriage licence". As a proud man who held stubbornly onto his saiyan roots, Vegeta had no desire to sign anything to bond himself with this particular human. He couldn't understand it - saiyans mated for life! He had already established himself as her mate, what with remaining on earth, protecting her and her boy from predators, and having no desire to stray. Wasn't that clear enough to her? Of course not, because when Bulma wanted something, Bulma always got it.

Even if it did cause a blow to his ego. And sanity, since she practically forced him into it. And she made a desperate case for it too, stating that being separated from him once was torturous enough. A boy needed his father, and she needed to keep up public appearances, as it would do no good for her image to be the mother of a bastard child. How anyone could think the offspring of a saiyan prince was a bastard was unbelievable, and he was ready to blast off the head of whoever threatened his family. But he did understand Bulma's arguments, and he did, after all, commit suicide and left her and Trunks defenceless. So he signed the stupid contract.

And what a dumb move that was! That vixen had tricked him. With her pretty eyes, her bright hair, and her gorgeous body, she lured him into a life he never wanted, playing the role of family man. He had no idea this marriage contract had so many unwritten rules, such as showing up to business functions, accompanying his family to parties, making an effort to be civil to those he disdained, and, worst of all, tolerating Bulma's friends and coworkers. He could care less for the coworkers, and he knew the feeling was mutual as most employees of Capsule Corps were completely terrified of him. But to make an effort to be kind to the likes of Kakarot, the midget friend of his with the Android wife, and that weakling ex-mate of all people, was quite unbearable to him.

And now, to top it all off, he had to play father again. He had already done it one time, and honestly, he didn't really want to do it again. He couldn't really recall ever being there during Bulma's first pregnancy, so he wasn't exactly prepared. He had no idea how demanding a woman could be, how irritating and irritated she could be, how her appetite could rival his own, and how emotional she always seemed to be. She demanded everything from him, and he couldn't well stay away this time without an excuse. Plus, it was probably his fault she was in this state. His seed was too strong, and impregnated his human wife's weak uterus.

What he was least prepared for was informing his son about the situation. But at least he didn't have to do it alone; he had expressed to Bulma that he had absolutely no desire to even speak, and that she would do all the explaining, which was fine by her since he never spoke much anyway. So there he found himself, learning against the wall beside the door, inside Trunk's room, with his wife sitting on the bed, and their son ignoring his parents, all of his attention focused on the computer game he was currently playing.

"Trunks, please take off the headphones, your father and I have something to tell you," Bulma said docilely from the bed, trying to get a reaction out of the boy.

Nothing.

"Trunks, sweetie, can you hear me?" she asked, getting up and waving her hands in front of his face. It was as if he couldn't even see her.

Vegeta scoffed at her continuous attempts to get Trunks' attention. He found it amusing how much his son's concentration level had improved since that embarrassment with Abo and Cado a few years ago. But now was not the time to exert this concentration level, and the saiyan prince was already at the end of his fuse in terms of holding back his frustration with telling the boy he was going to have another sibling. So he strode towards his son, yanked the back of his computer chair until he flew across the room (chair and all), with his headphones askew across his shoulders and unplugged from the computer.

He could hardly hold back his smirk at the look of astonishment on Trunks' face. "What the hell was that for, dad?" Trunks exclaimed, much accusation in his tone. He struggled to get up and out from the indent he made in the wall.

The saiyan grunted, but let his wife speak for the both of them. "Trunks, we have something to tell you."

"Alright, fine, whatever, just get on with it", he replied, quickly replanting his seat in front of the computer. He was about to snap his headphones back on before they were snatched away by his father.

"_Hey_!"

"Don't be so rude to your mother, boy!" Vegeta said icily.

"_You're_ rude to her all the time!"

"That's because she's not _my_ mother! Now show some proper respect."

He noticed lately that the brat had become increasingly aggravated, not only towards his mother, but to everyone. Bulma had explained that the boy's hormones were acting up in a human phase called puberty. Vegeta had scoffed at the idea. His boy may have had human genetics, but he was half saiyan too. Trunks couldn't possibly succumb to such human weakness as puberty. It didn't even sound like a worthy disease.

"Thank you. Vegeta, that was very nice of you to stick up for me," Bulma said, flashing him a flirty wink and smile. It wasn't that he was rude to her, and if he was, then she made rude comments back at him too. It's just that being rude was the way he was most comfortable with in showing affection for his wife.

He grunted in response, and let her carry on.

"As I was saying, Trunks, your father and I have some news."

The brat eyed her suspiciously. "Good or bad?"

"That depends on how well you take it. But good for us!" She motioned between herself and her husband.

"Don't tell me you're _pregnant_, mom," Trunks guffawed, his smile cracking on his previously angered face. It surprised Vegeta that that would be the boy's first guess, but he had nailed it. Bulma, too, seemed shocked to hear it. When the boy got no response, he continued. "_Seriously _you guys? You're going to have another kid?"

Bulma snapped out of her reveries. "Yes, Trunks. Your father and I are expecting a second child."

"_Why_?" he asked, not angry, but confused. "I thought you two were done with all that stuff."

"What stuff?"

"You know," Trunks said, avoiding his mother's eye, "the whole raising a kid stuff. I mean, I'm basically grown. You're practically done with me! What do you two want another kid for? Unless it wasn't planned, this makes more sense, considering how old you are. Especially you, mom, even though I know dad's supposedly older. You're showing it more so than he is."

The more the boy rattled on, the more red his mother's face grew. This time, Vegeta couldn't hold back his chuckle. Calling Bulma Brief "old" was not favourable in the Brief household, as the woman prided herself in her youthful looks. While he did acknowledge that she aged better than most women of her age (he compared her with Kakarot shrew of a mate), he also had to agree with his son in that his wife was gaining the odd wrinkle.

"_You hold your_ _tongue_, _you_ _rude_ _little_ _boy_!" Bulma exploded, eyes bulging from their sockets. "I'm still beautiful, and don't you dare utter another sound about aging! You'll be glad to have my youth when you become _my_ age!"

"Well," Trunks said, moving away from his mother, "I take after dad, so I can only assume that I'll retain my looks better than you. No offense, mom."

Before Bulma had the chance to seize the boy around his throat for yet another quip at her age, Vegeta had quickly moved to block her from such actions.

"Control yourself, woman!" he growled, glaring at both her and the boy. "You're in no state to have your emotions go through the roof!"

When she had finally calmed down, she pushed him lightly away from her, brushed her hair back, and composed herself in front of her son. "Well, there you have it, Trunks. You'll be a big brother in approximately eight months, and whether that is good or bad news to you, I could care less."

"I'm happy for you, mom!" Trunks exclaimed hastily, moving forward and giving his mother an awkward hug. "Really! It's just a bit of a shock, I guess. I mean, I always wanted another brother or something, but I figured that you just didn't want to reproduce anymore, since most siblings are you know, closer in age compared to being eleven years apart or whatever."

Bulma sniffed at her son's form of apology, but smiled nonetheless, returning the boy's hug with a more affectionate one.

"And I suppose congratulations go to you too, dad," Trunks said hesitantly, looking up from his mother's embrace to his father. Unfortunately, he finished off the sentiment with a sarcastic, "Fatherhood suits you."

And with that, the prince grabbed the headphones off the boy's desk, and chucked the device in Trunks' face for his insolent remark. He boy howled with pain, as Vegeta noticed the mark it left on his forehead. He smiled smugly.

* * *

For the last eight months, Vegeta felt that his role was reversed with Bulma. He was used to his woman answering to his every beck and call, he was used to coming home after training and expecting a complete meal prepared, and he was used to satisfaction in the bedroom.

Only one of the three things he expected came true. Bulma's hormones acted up spontaneously, and she was always more than ready for what she called "mommy-daddy fun time". While the name she gave sexual intercourse was repulsive, it didn't stop him from complying with her needs. However, now it was his turn to act servant to her queenly orders, and cook and clean for the family.

Technically, "cooking" meant ordering one of the Capsule Corporation's employees to order food from what Trunks informed him was called a fast food restaurant, so that was one deed he didn't have to deal with. But the cleaning and the servitude was enough to put him in a constant foul mood.

But now it was finally coming to an end, as her gestation period was about to cease. Here, in what the humans called a hospital, he paced the hallway back and forth, conflicted between the desperate need to leave the place with its strange smells of sick and disinfectant, and his desire to look upon the face of his new son.

Trunks and Bulma's parents were sitting patiently in the waiting room. He left within thirty minutes of idle sitting, not being one for staying in place in the middle of a dire situation. Bulma had inquired if he wanted to be in the room during the delivery, but he outright refused. He didn't want any sight of her to spoil the way he saw her, thank you very much. He'd rather maintain the image of her as the irrisistably luscious woman she was.

He'd been pacing for the last five hours. He didn't expect labour to be so time-consuming, but he was informed by Bunny Brief that she had been in labour with Bulma for thirteen hours, and that, if he were there to have witnessed it, Bulma was in labour with trunks for a good twenty-one. Five hours was nothing.

It wasn't nothing to him, however. He was agitated, anxious, and nervous. He hated to admit it, but he hadn't been the best father figure to the first boy. What if he was an even bigger failure with the second? What if this new one was less forgiving than the first one, and wanted nothing to do with him? He didn't mind if he didn't have to take too big a part in the life of a new child, but he'd like to at least make some sort of impression. It did Trunks some good; after all, else he would've turned out to be a puss.

The door to Bulma's delivery room suddenly creaked open, and a hazard looking woman in white peered out from behind. When Vegeta caught her eye, she smiled at him.

"Mr. Vegeta, they're ready to see you!" she exclaimed cheerily. Vegeta held back a growl at her demeanor.

He followed the woman back into the room, only to find his wife lying in the starchy bed, sweat-soaked, exhausted, but utterly happy, holding a bundle of what appeared to be towels in her arms. She was murmuring to the baby, and didn't notice his presence until he cleared his throat, which made her look up. Her eyes were shining as she looked at him, and she beckoned him forward to meet the new addition to their family.

He stalked over wearily, trying to maintain gruff while doing so. He wasn't too sure what to do, now that the kid was here. Bulma seemed to know what to do naturally. He didn't even know how to hold an infant - how was he supposed to know how to hold one that literally just came out of the womb? And was he even expected to hold it at all?

"Vegeta," Bulma said softly, looking at the bundle, "say hello to your new daughter."

It took him a few seconds to finally wrap his head around what she had just stated. _Daughter._

"_Daughter_?" he asked incredulously, stopping in his tracks. "Woman, did you just say _daughter_?"

She gave him a funny look. "Of course. Now quit gaping at me and get your stupid saiyan ass over here!"

"No," he muttered, his brows furrowing, "that can't be right. How could it be a _girl_?"

"I'm sorry hon, did you say something?"

He stared at his wife, and what was supposedly his daughter. It was impossible! How could he, Vegeta, Saiyan Prince, produce a girl? His entire lineage had been male! His father produced two sons, and by his knowledge, so did the rest of his clan. Even Kakarot, of all saiyans, third class and everything, had managed to father two sons! And he could not? Impossible! He couldn't be a failure, not compared to Kakarot!

"Vegeta, seriously, what is the matter with you? Come here!" Bulma demanded, now giving him an evil glare. Still trying to shake the shock from his entire being, he stiffly walked over to her, but refused to peer at the infant.

"I hope the delivery went well?" he inquired gruffly, crossing his arms and peering down at her from over his nose.

She rolled her eyes at him. "Why yes," she answered in sarcastic cordiality, "the delivery went very smoothly. Along with the help of the doctors, I managed to push the baby out of my uterus and through my vaginal opening."

"Well, congratulations on your successful birthing then. You look marginally better than what I expected."

She gave him another one of her famous eye-rolls, and turned her attention back to the new baby. "Now what should we name you, little one?"

Vegeta stood there awkwardly while his wife continued her musings with the infant. He didn't know what to do. He still didn't get a glimpse of the new child, and he wasn't sure he wanted to. A girl! What was he supposed to do with a girl? A boy he knew how to handle. Boys were simple - all they needed was training, food, and a nest for sleeping. Hell, Trunks had more than a nest, and the boy turned out perfectly fine. But a _girl_? Did girls even train? How would he be able to train a girl? How was he even supposed to act around a girl? His only experience with women came in the form of Bulma and Bunny brief. He barely paid Bunny any attention, and his wife was more or less independent from him.

"Here, Vegeta, hold her," Bulma said, lifting her weak arms and offering the bundle to him.

He recoiled. "Woman, I suggest you put that down before you drop it!"

She shot him a nasty look. "She's a girl, Vegeta, not some immobile object. What's the matter with you?"

He didn't voice his concern, but after a few moments, he figured Bulma could deduce why he was acting the way he did, because she looked at him tenderly. He shifted uncomfortably.

"Vegeta, she's a girl, not a monster. I know you wanted another boy - heck, you probably expected another boy - but the fates aren't always so kind. Or perhaps the fates have been kind, and they're giving you a chance to improve your nurturing skills."

"I don't need nurturing skills," he spat out, crossing his arms again. "And whether it's a boy or a girl, I couldn't giving a flying fu - "

"Vegeta," she cut in, giving him a warning look, "don't be nervous. She won't kill you. She's half you anyhow! Besides, I've always wanted a daughter, and you like sons. We have one of each, so now we can have a more balanced household."

_One of each_. That was true enough. He had helped create a balance. Kakarot couldn't' do that now, could he? Perhaps this just proved his superiority. Even in the circle of life, he was able to produce offspring of both genders.

After giving him his needed moment of reflection, Bulma interrupted his thoughts. "You wanna hold her now?"

He pulled a face and grumbled, but gave her a curt nod. Once more, she lifted the bundle towards him, and he moved forward to take it from her. Of cou8rse, since he had no experience with this, he fumbled slightly, and made a mess of the whole process.

"Gently," Bulma murmured, sitting up and keeping one hand on the baby. "Put one hand under her head, and use your other to support her back... there you go. You can transfer the weight to your arms once you feel more confident."

"I'm always confident, woman," he muttered, more to himself, but she caught it and smiled. He noticed that Bulma's hand was back to her side, and that she was resting against her pillows again.

He looked down at the bundle in his arms, but the face was obscured by the blankets. He gingerly removed one arm, and used his hands to brush aside the blankets to reveal the child beneath them.

The girl was pink. Were babies supposed to be pink? He glanced over at Bulma, he was already asleep. Her skin was pale, but it wasn't pink. Trunks took after his own tanned skin colour. So why was this one pink?

He looked at her again. No hair rested upon her soft-looking head. Eyes shifting around cautiously, he noticed that no one was in the room, save for his sleeping mate, so he used the same hand that manoeuvred the blankets to press very softly down on the girl's head. It was weird. It molded to his fingers. He shivered, a look of disgust playing on his face.

The baby's eyes were closed, but the features made her look somewhat like a turtle. This was supposed to be how a saiyan-human hybrid infant looked like? He couldn't ever recall Trunks looking this repulsive. Then again, he wasn't even introduced to Trunks until the child was at least two months old.

He heard the door open, and looked over to see the rest of his clan come in. He noticed that Trunks tried unsuccessfully to hide the surprise in his face to see his father holding a brand new baby.

"The nurse told us to come on in to meet the kid!" Dr. Brief exclaimed as quietly as he could. The look of sheer delight on his face showed how much he already loved his new grandchild despite never having had the opportunity to even glimpse at her.

"Oh Vegeta, darling, you look so cute holding the baby!" Bunny remarked, eyes closed as always. How she managed to walk without bumping into anything was beyond him. She sauntered her way over to him, and motioned towards the child. He held out his arms, and the happy grandmother took his daughter away.

For some reason, he felt a hollow feeling in his chest once the baby was transferred to Bunny. It was odd.

"Oh just look at her honey," she said to her husband. The man walked over, and the two cooed over the baby. "She is so beautiful!"

Vegeta raised an eyebrow at this comment; considering how she took after a reptile, with a mushy head, he doubted the sincerity of their words.

"So what's her name, dad?" Trunks asked, as he walked over to his new sibling. He looked up at his father with a look on inquiry.

Vegeta shrugged. "That's her decision," he nodded towards the still sleeping Bulma.

"I guess she can't escape the family tradition of being named after an undergarment then," Trunks replied. He took his sister from Bunny's arms, and cradled her in his own. "Looks a bit funny."

He couldn't argue with that logic, as he agreed whole heartedly. But if Trunks turned out to look acceptable, he supposed his daughter would too.

Feeling slightly uncomfortable in this picture-perfect moment, Vegeta removed himself from the room, and back into the hallway. The first hurdle of meeting his new offspring was over with. If he was able to survive that - complete with holding her for a good ten minutes - then he figured he'd be able to survive the rest. Hopefully.

* * *

Two months later, his musings came true. The girl had grown out of her turtle-ish looks, her head hardened up, and she grew hair. It wasn't lavender the way the boy's was, but it was blue, just like Bulma's.

He had a feeling the girl would take after Bulma. And he was grateful, since he couldn't imagine a girl looking anything like him, widow's peak and all.

He noticed the shift in the household. It was generally messier now, toys littering every square inch of the floor. Why a baby needed all those toys, he didn't know, but he supposed it was good that his daughter should want for nothing. Bulma was awake more than she was asleep; her duties to the company took a backseat to her nurturing of her new baby, and she wasn't as quick to anger as she normally was. This was a benefit of motherhood, as he was getting tired of her constant nit-picking towards him. What was not a benefit, however, was her fatigue, and how their sex life was basically non-existent.

Even Trunks was stepping up to the role of big brother. He fed, changed, bathed, and played with his sister. He looked after her when Bulma was unable to tear herself away from the company and her duties, and he willingly spent time with her, often lying on the couch with the baby balanced on his stomach.

He did notice, however, that Bulma rarely ever left him alone with the girl. She had explained a month ago, that she knew of his discomfort around children, and that he still needed time to adjust to the idea of being father to a daughter. A month ago, he was relieved. A month later, he was starting to feel left out.

Since the time in the hospital, he had never been left alone with the girl. He didn't want to be left alone with the girl since he had no idea what to do, but he did want a role in her life, aside from the role of barely-present-father. She was more pleasant to look at now, so he didn`t cringe every time he set his eyes on her. And he did admit that he was coming around to the idea of having a girl.

He wandered around the house, taking a break from his training for the day. He heard a blaring noise coming from the den, and walked in that direction, thinking perhaps he would come into the company of either Bulma or Trunks. Hopefully not of that Bunny Brief though. He did not like her company.

He made his way into the den, only to catch a sleeping Trunks lying haphazardly on the couch, television turned on to the highest volume level. Vegeta could hardly hear himself think. He looked around the room, taking in the mess of toys, discarded candy wrappers, and empty crushed cans of soda. And then his eyes landed on the cradle by the boy's feet, and he noticed it held the girl.

He quietly strode towards the cradle and peered in skeptically. She was awake, and his shadow looking over her caught her attention. She gave him a look of confusion, as if she had no clue as to who this stranger was, and what he was doing, staring down at her.

He couldn't blame her for that look - he barely had any interaction with the child. But didn't all of that nurturing stuff fall naturally to the mother?

He tossed aside the towel that was draped on his shoulder to the floor. Using his foot, he nudged the cradle, making it rock on its feet. A small gurgle of delight emitted from the depths of the contraption. He glanced towards Trunks, and noticed the boy was still asleep. He then turned his attention back towards the girl. He nudged the cradle again, a bit harder this time, causing the cradle to rock in a steadier rhythm. She gave a bubbly laugh, and he realized he couldn't hold back the tiny smile that was slowly forming from his mouth.

And since she liked the rocking so much, he kept up the continuous nudging, causing her to erupt in excited giggles. He was now smiling openly with the girl, pushing the cradle to and fro, enjoying the feeling of being the cause to such a positive reaction. She was laughing so loudly now, and he was feeling fantastic at making a good impression, that he figured he could push the cradle a bit harder, making the rocking motion even more enjoyable for her. So he nudged with more strength.

But the cradle rocked violently from side to side, causing the girl within it to start whimpering. And then when the rocking didn't stop, the girl started to cry, and her crying noises were starting to lift above the sound from the television set. He didn't want Trunks to wake up and become witness to his father's actions. He didn't want the boy to know that he had made the girl cry, and he didn't want the boy to tell Bulma, which would result in her throwing a fit, and throwing things at his head. But most of all, he didn't want the boy to see his failure at playing with the girl.

He couldn't even manage that! Just simple _playing_ and he made her cry.

Reaching forward on instinct, he took hold of the infant, and lifted her out of the still moving cradle. He held her out in arm's length, and she was still wailing, and he panicked. Why did he lift her out? He should've left her, quickly run out of the room, and wait until Trunks got up from her slumber to attend to the baby. But of course, he acted without thinking - a trait of Kakarot's, not his - and held her. Not knowing what to do, he held the girl out and glared at her, willing her to stop her crying.

"Hold her against your chest," said a groggy voice from the couch. He looked over to see Trunks rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and getting up slowly.

Not liking taking orders from a subordinate, he rolled his eyes. The girl still kept up her crying.

"Dad, just hold her against you. Holding her out like that is uncomfortable for a baby. _Obviously_," Trunks said, rolling his eyes at his father. He grabbed the remote and lowered the volume.

Vegeta sneered at his son, but took his advice. He gingerly held the girl to his chest. Instantly, the crying turned into slight whimpering, and the whimpering turned into slight hiccups, until finally, she quieted down and snuggled against him.

"There you go," Trunks said, propping his feet on the coffee table. "Once you get the hang of it, it won't be so painful."

The saiyan grunted in response to his son, and made his way out of the room, still clutching onto the child. He didn't want to be around the boy and his mess and noise, and he doubted the girl, now awake, would want to be exposed to that either. So he stalked off into the hall with his daughter, who had fallen into a deep sleep in his arms.

But now that he had the baby, he didn't know what to do. What was one supposed to do with a baby? He couldn't well get back into the Gravity Room to train; for once in his life, he didn't feel very hungry, and he couldn't bring her back into the den and face further questioning from Trunks as to why he was there in the first place.

And then the idea struck him. He could fly. And he could take her with him! She was asleep anyway, so it's not like she would notice. Bulma was nowhere to be seen, and Trunks was too preoccupied with his own life to care. Plus, flying would give him something to do, and he wouldn't be flying at too high an altitude or too quick a pace. Flying would do her well; give her the fresh air he thought she needed. And it was never too early to introduce a saiyan offspring to the art of flying.

It was a fantastic idea, and it was a great way to start a relationship with a girl.

Or at least, it was the best way he knew how, since he had absolutely no clue what the hell he was doing.

* * *

Vegeta congratulated himself on his feat. He managed to stay flying with the girl for a good hour and forty minutes. She awoke mid-air at one point, looked around, and smiled up at him, before turning her face back against his chest to fall asleep once more. It surprisingly made him feel really good.

He was now back in the house, making his way to the girl's room. He had already walked past the den, peered in, and noticed that Trunks was back to sleep on the couch, looking every inch the lazy slob he was. He raised his eyebrows at the boy, but made no verbal comment. He continued on his way to the girl's room.

"Bra! _There_ you are!"

Vegeta stopped dead in his tracks as he heard the high-pitched voice of his wife. He looked to his left, where the hall split into two, and saw that Bulma was now walking quickly towards them, smiling brightly.

"I thought I left you with your big brother!" Bulma said, as she finally stopped in front of her husband. The baby's eyes slowly came apart as she peered at her mother. Recognition hit the girl's face, and she smiled back at Bulma.

"I was just in the den looking for you, baby girl! Your big brother is asleep, isn't he? He wasn't doing a very good job looking after you, was he? Strange, since he usually does..."

Vegeta stood there stiffly, his arms frozen in place around the baby. They were starting to give off a dull throbbing pain, as he held that position for the last two hours.

"But now your daddy's holding you! _How sweet_!" Bulma exclaimed, reaching over to Vegeta and planting a particularly loud kiss on cheek. If he had the use of his arms, he would've brushed her away, along with the kiss she left. He felt his cheeks redden in embarrassment.

"So how do you like your daddy, little one? Isn't he just the most adorable man on Earth? Look at him, with his big strong arms around you, protecting you like the warrior he is!" She lifted her face away from the infant, and look at her husband. "So what did you do with Bra, Vegeta?"

"We went out flying," he replied curtly, avoiding her gaze.

"You _what_?"

He refused to repeat himself, knowing full well she heard him.

"_Vegeta, you idiot_! How could you take her _flying_?" she asked, a look of incredulity on her face.

"Why not?"

"_Why not_? Seriously, Vegeta? She's not even a year old! She can't handle the pressure of changing altitudes, she's barely wearing anything and might have caught a cold, and she's not ready to do so yet!"

"I made sure she was warm," he said defensively. "I didn't allow her to fall, I didn't fly at my usual pace, and I flew low so there was no change in altitude."

Bulma relaxed her features, but he noticed she still furrowed her brows. "Look, Vegeta, I'm not saying you weren't being careful, but I'm just saying that she shouldn't be flying right now! Really, there could have been some serious consequences, you doofus."

He didn't answer her, but felt his arms tighten around the girl. He wasn't stupid enough to drop his own child mid-flight! Nor was he stupid enough not to take precautions to make sure her well-being was taken care of.

He heard Bulma sigh, a sign that she wanted to drop the issue. He didn't want to quarrel with her either, but he would have, if she were to insult him again.

"She's probably hungry," Bulma said, reaching for the girl. "Here, let me take her so I can feed her." His wife had lifted the girl off his arms and into her own.

But suddenly, the girl let out an ear-piercing shriek, kicking and flailing her limbs in every direction she could reach. He watched as Bulma struggled to contain the girl in her arms. "Bra, stop that! You need feeding! Don't - _stop that right now_!"

The girl ignored her mother, still screaming bloody murder. Vegeta watched the scene, highly amused. The girl didn't cry once during flight, but back on ground, and in the arms of her mother, she couldn't stop screaming.

"Don't just stand there like an _imbecile_, Vegeta!" Bulma yelled, her voice carrying over the girl's. "A little help would be much appreciated!"

He didn't really know what to do, but again, instinct had taken over him, and he removed the girl from her mother, and back into the cradle of his own arms. A few more wails came out from her gaping mouth before she realized the transition that happened. She calmed down, looked up at the man, and shoved her face into the crook of his arm.

He couldn't help but smirk at the look on Bulma's face. His wife had her mouth open, a brow raised with a slightly suspicious look on her face, and her cheeks flushed with irritation.

"_Problem_ _solved_," he said smoothly, turn around and moving towards the girl's room. He heard Bulma walking up behind him as he entered the room, and laid the girl in her crib. She promptly fell asleep.

"_How did you do that_?" Bulma asked, still shocked beyond belief. "You don't like babies, and babies don't like _you_!"

"What are you rattling on about, woman?" he demanded, turning around expectantly, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Babies don't _like_ you, Vegeta," she repeated, shaking her head. "It took Trunks a good year to get used to you, and even then he still cried whenever you shoved your mug into his face."

That much was true, he had to admit. The boy had been terrified of him until the age of three, when he basically forced his son to train with him the gravity room. To Vegeta, fear was a sign of respect.

"And you don't like babies, either! You wanted _nothing_ to do with Trunks until he was able to walk, feed, and speak for himself."

"Perhaps _this_ one likes me," he said evenly, looking around his shoulder to the girl. He didn't even realize he was smiling slightly as he looked at her, but he did see the look Bulma gave him when he faced her again. "What is it, woman? Spit it out!"

"Nothing," she said petulantly, walking past him to peer into the crib. She brushed the girl across the cheek.

"Tell me!"

Bulma looked up at him with a sly, secretive grin. "Perhaps you're right, Vegeta. Perhaps there is finally a baby out there who actually likes you." She reached out to him, put a hand on his chest, and leaned in to give him a kiss.

She started walking out the room, but turned around once she reached the door, the grin never leaving her face. "And perhaps, you like her too."

And with that, his wife walked out of the room, leaving him alone again with the girl. He learned over the crib, hands clutching the edge, and looked at the girl.

He really needed to stop referring to the baby as "the girl". After all, she _did_ have a name. He didn't particularly _like_ the name, but he couldn't offer up anything better than the one Bulma suggested. Her name was Bra, and she was his daughter.

Vegeta sighed, resting his chin on his arms, still looking at the girl. He couldn't help but feel a sense of peace, standing there protectively over this crib. It was the same feeling he had the first time he went out flying with Trunks, and it was the same feeling he had every night when he held Bulma against him while he slept. If he could feel this way about his daughter, then he knew that he could forge some sort of bond with her in the future.

Checking to make sure nobody was around, he cautiously put his hand on top of the girl's head - _Bra's_ head - and brushed the hair out of her face with his thumb. And because he was feeling bolder than usual, he leaned in tentatively, and gently brushed his lips across her forehead.

He pulled away from her, and realized he was smiling now. Bra made no reaction to his actions, and slept on obliviously. He was about to move away from the crib, when an irritating voice grated his sensitive ears.

"I saw that, by the way," came a voice from the door.

Of course, it was Bulma. How could he not have sensed her? Her energy was one he always sensed and made notice of! _Great_. She had caught him in a vulnerable and embarrassing moment.

"_Damnit_!" he cried, stomping his foot in anger.

Bra proceeded to cry.

* * *

**A/N:** hello readers, i hope you enjoyed reading this. i've suddenly become obsessed (again) with dbz, and really wanted to write something to do with vegeta. so here it is.

pelase be aware that this is a continuous story. there is not particular timeline - each chapter is its own individual story technically. think of each chapter as one-shorts, but combined into one story, just to make life easier.

anyway, i will be adding onto this story when i get the opportunity to write, therefore, this story won't be complete until i feel completely satisfied with all the chapters i have given in to it.

thanks for your reading, and as always, please review!


	2. The Yamcha Effect

Every time that scar-faced idiot would come by for a visit, Vegeta always made a point in declaring his mighty presence at Capsule Corporation. He didn't do it out of friendliness, nor did he do it out of spite, but he did it, simply, for shits and giggles.

He didn't hate the man, nor did he like him; he preferred to say that he felt _indifferent_, which everyone found acceptable. Because it was true - Vegeta felt indifferent towards Yamcha, and anything that human did was nothing the saiyan cared for.

He never understood what it was about the man that Bulma had found attractive. He couldn't place it. The scars were very unappealing, his fighting level was embarrassing, and everything about him was unbecoming. Yes, he was taller than most men of average height (and Vegeta _did_ count himself in the "average" category), but surely, that couldn't be his only redeeming quality, could it?

He had once asked Bulma why she had attached herself to Yamcha; rather than providing him with a detailed answer as he would've expected, since she was always so chatty, she instead gave him a snarky grin, and replied with a "would _you_ like to know!"

His wife was a tease, and his wife was a flirt - he acknowledged that about her. But she could never give him a straight answer when he truly desired it. When he kept pestering her about the issue, she had requested that he drop it, and informed the prince that she chose him, after all, and that her heart would never belong to anyone else. He would be lying if he said he didn't care much about her heart, but he did care as to why she had desired Yamcha at one point in her life.

Currently, Vegeta was slowly making his way into the kitchen of his abode; he had already felt the energy of the Weakling within the vicinity of his home, and he was plotting his next move towards the man.

He didn't hate Yamcha, but he _did_ enjoy seeing the man squirm. And he knew the effect he had on Bulma's ex-lover, and the fear he ignited in the man whenever he walked by. But alongside that fear was a tinge of jealousy that the prince could detect, and it made him feel at least nine feet tall. He did so enjoy rubbing into Yamcha's face that he got the girl, and that he got the girl pregnant. Such a wonderful gain for the saiyan, as compared to the devastating loss by the human.

Bulma already knew what he up to. She was hardly surprised anymore, every time he found a new way to get beneath Yamcha's skin. She usually shot him looks of warning, and sometimes - though very rarely - she'd even join in for her own amusement, but most often, she didn't condone his behaviour. He couldn't help himself though; pranking on Yamcha was one of his most favourite past times on Earth. It wasn't like he had a job (or needed one) to occupy his time. Bulma had once suggested spending more time with the brats, but he felt that this was a better waste of his time. And sometimes, he even got his children in on his pranks as well.

His actions weren't limited to pranking, as most of the time, he preferred verbally sparring with the man. He always won, of course - his quick saiyan wit was no match to Yamcha's idiot IQ. He preferred arguing with Yamcha, embarrassing Yamcha, and aggravating Yamcha, because he liked seeing the man's face flush, he liked seeing his temple throb, and he liked seeing the regret playing in the man's eyes every time Bulma walked by. However, Vegeta wasn't always pleased when the man's eyes fell upon his wife - as much as the prince liked to flaunt and brag about how beautiful and intelligent his wife was, he didn't always like it when other men took notice of her. And Bulma made it clear to him that killing off Yamcha once again was not an option, as he was still, and always will be, her very dear friend.

Vegeta personally found Yamcha's existence to be expendable; the man could barely fight, his face was scarred, which showed off all his losses, he was always whining and complaining (even more so than Bulma at times), and he just wasn't worthy of the title "warrior". But he had already killed him once, and as his wife warned him, if Yamcha were ever to die again at his hands, she would personally make sure that his sex life would be the next thing dead. And as weak as she was, compared to him, he actually believed those words, because she did truly hold some power over him, hated as he was to admit that.

As the saiyan rounded the corner of the hall, he could make out two distinct voices - one was his wife's, and the other one belonged to Yamcha. Vegeta had just gotten through a very good training session, was feeling particularly cheery (for him that is), and was in the mood for some tormenting. This day was turning out deliciously.

Unfortunately, the sight he walked in on was not too pleasing to his eye, as he found his wife by the sink, washing dishes, the Weakling, standing all too close beside her, and his youngest child, sitting happily in the arms of another man.

While Bulma and the man didn't seem to notice his arrival, his daughter did manage to pick up on his energy signals, as she looked over to him and exclaimed, "Papa! Papa!"

He grunted in response, walking into the kitchen and heading straight for the refrigerator. Sticking his hand into it, he pulled out the first thing he managed to grab a hold of, which was a bowl of salad. Fine by him.

"Papa!" Bra cried again, waving incessantly to get his attention. "_Papa_!"

He settled himself down by the kitchen table before he replied. "What is it, Bra?"

"Did you know that Uncle Yamcha used to be Mommy's _boyfriend_?" she asked, putting stress on the word "boyfriend". She then let out an extremely girlish giggle.

Vegeta inwardly winced at the noise his daughter was making. But what she had just told him piqued his interest. "I did know that, Bra. How did _you_ come by that knowledge?"

"Uncle Yamcha told me!" she announced, smiling at the man. "He told me how he and Mommy were in love, until _you_ came in and stole her away!"

As much as he disliked being painted as the bad guy, he supposed the human's version of the story was partly true. While he didn't exactly steal Bulma away, he did manage to swoop into her life rather quickly after she had detached herself from the man.

He decided not to answer his daughter verbally, but gave her an acknowledging look that he heard her. He wasn't really sure how to respond to such a statement anyway, and everyone was used to his silence by now.

"Hey Papa!" Bra continued, ignorant to her father's inner turmoil. "Do you know, Uncle Yamcha could've been my papa if Mommy never met you?"

Now this truly got his attention. "What do you mean?" he asked quietly, looking across at the wall, rather than at the three individuals by the sink.

"_Well_," Bra said, tracing her tiny fingers across the scars on Yamcha's cheeks, "Uncle Yamcha said that I would've been _his_ little princess if you didn't trick Mommy into being with you."

Again, he said nothing, but this time, it was quite obvious that he was seething. His energy was sporadically rising at alternating levels, his temple was probably throbbing like it was about to burst, and the metal fork in his right hand was getting mangled by the second.

He slowly looked over towards the sink; his signature scowl on his face, except it was threefold as strong this time. Bra was smiling pleasantly at him, but he noticed the guilt in Bulma's reddened face, and the anxiety and apprehension growing within the Weakling. Dare that man call his daughter - _his_ _daughter_ - his "little princess"? As if his child was just a toy that could be passed around for ownership? He would have none of that.

"What mindless poison are you feeding the girl, man?" Vegeta asked scathingly, getting up from his seat to stand directly in front of the trio.

Yamcha shuffled nervously, unable to bring his own gaze to properly meet Vegeta's. His fingers tightened around Bra's little body, as if the girl could protect him from her vicious father.

"Speak up, moron," he demanded, his muscles bulging to make a point. The man swallowed quite loudly.

"Oh Vegeta, stop being such a bully," Bulma said chidingly. She wiped her hands on her apron, and gave him a pointed look. "We were just having a friendly conversation."

"Hn. Judging by the uncontrollable sweating on Yamcha's face, I believe it was more than just a _friendly_ conversation."

His wife rolled her eyes at him. "Don't be such an idiot, we were having such a wonderful time until you came in and soured the mood!"

Vegeta bristled with annoyance - every time the man came to visit, Bulma always seemed to be on the defensive side against him. Usually, he hardly cared, since he knew he'd win anyway, but to corrupt the impressionable mind of his child was going too far.

"Like that _moron_ could father such perfection!" Vegeta exclaimed, slitting his eyes towards Yamcha. He looked at his daughter. "Don't be fooled, Bra, by his stupidity. He could never be your father, he's much too dim-witted."

Bra laughed at her father's joke, but wrapped her arms around the other man's beck tightly. "Oh Papa, you're so silly! Uncle Yamcha's my _favourite_!"

He heard Bulma snicker, and his anger increased even more so. "Is he, now?"

"Uh huh! He's so nice, and handsome, and he's so _tall_!"

If there was one thing that Vegeta hated, it was being called "short". He was average, not short. "He's not that tall."

"Much taller than _you_, Papa," Bra gushed, rubbing her face against Yamcha's. "And he always brings me dolls!"

"Then I suppose your mother and I could stop purchasing those ridiculous pieces of humanesque plastic for you, seeing as your Uncle Yamcha is your favourite provider of all things good."

Bra's smile instantly froze over, as she turned a pale face towards her father. Her mouth gaped, and her eyes glazed over. "No more dolls?"

"Oh, many dolls," he said in a monotonous voice, "as long as that man is able to provide for you. He could be your father, as you have stated moments earlier."

"_Mommy_!" the girl exclaimed, wriggling free of Yamcha's hold. She ran over to her mother, clutching at the hem of Bulma's dress. "Mommy, why is Papa being so _mean_?"

"I believe it's his nature to be such a jerk," she replied sarcastically, crossing her arms in a manner that was so familiar with her husband. "Don't let your Daddy get to you, hon. He's just a little jealous."

"Of _what_?" Bra asked, scratching her head and peering over to her father with curiosity. "Papa never gets jealous of _anything_!"

Bulma outright laughed at this comment. Vegeta bunched his hands into fists as his wife continued to laugh at his expense. "Quiet down, you stupid harpy! Your cackling is unbecoming."

"It astonishes me that you think any of my traits are unbecoming."

"And what does _that_ mean?"

"It means that most of you, particularly your personality, is unbecoming. I, on the other hand, am everything becoming, and everything that became, hence the reason why you adore me so much."

"Hn. I'll let you think that, woman."

"What is Papa jealous of?" Bra demanded, stamping her foot and tugging once more on the hem of Bulma's dress. "What is it? Tell me!"

"Oh, it's nothing," Bulma said nonchalantly. She walked over to her husband, and tapped him lightly on the nose. "He's just jealous of your Uncle Yamcha."

At that exact moment, Vegeta heard three things: Yamcha's incredibly annoying guffaw, Bra's squeal of delight, and his own veins, throbbing with the most irritation he ever felt.

Bra ran over to him, pointed a short, pudgy finger directly to his face, and yelled "Papa's jealous of Uncle Yamcha!"

"_I_ _am not_!" he yelled, giving her his most terrifying glare. "Put that finger _away_ you insolent brat!"

"Yes you are!" she said happily, though he did notice she put her hand down. "You only get mad when you know you're _wrong_!"

He didn't even deign to give her an answer. Instead, he stalked back to his seat, and began shoving his salad into his mouth with his hands like the barbarian he was.

"I suggest you not vex Vegeta while he's mad, kid," Yamcha said, leaning against the counter with a smug look on his face. "He's not generally the friendliest person on earth, so hitting him when he's already down is never a good idea."

"_Shut_ _up_, _Weakling_!" Vegeta roared, slamming his fist down on the table. The empty bowl that had just recently contained his food rattled violently.

This was just getting ridiculous! How was it that this situation was turning out in his favour? He _always_ got his way whenever it came to screwing around with Yamcha! This was insane!

"Calm down, Vegeta, there's not need to act like such a brute. We've company!"

As if he counted that worthless human as company. "My ass, company," he scoffed. Wanting desperately to remove himself from such a wretched situation, he shoved himself away from the table (or rather, he shoved the table away from himself), and stomped away from the compound kitchen. He decided to head back to his Gravity Room, a place of solitude where nobody would bother him.

He had enough of Yamcha, and the effect the man had on him.

And here he thought, all along, he had an effect on Yamcha instead.

* * *

It well past nine at night before Vegeta decided to come out from hiding. He had only had a salad the entire day, and had missed dinner, so he was extremely hungry. And he was just a little bit annoyed and angry at himself for letting the events of this morning bother him so much.

He made his way back into the kitchen, except this time it was empty. He could smell the lingering scent of Yamcha wafting through the vicinity, and he pulled a face of disgust.

The table was piled with plates and plates of his dinner, left over by his family. He noticed that many of the dishes contained his Earthly favourites - sushi, chashu pork, udon noodles, and salmon onigiri. Perhaps it was Bulma's way of saying sorry. As much as he appreciated the food, he would not let her get away with embarrassing him today, especially not in front of the younger brat and that idiot man she called a lover.

He sat down and quickly shoved everything down his system, as was his way for consumption. It was all very tasty, but he still couldn't get the foul taste of the day out of his mouth.

Once every plate was clearly, he gathered them up and thrust them into the sink for cleaning. Not that he'd be doing any of that since he was too high above such peasantry. He decided he'd leave it for Bulma to do.

Letting out a satisfied burp, he walked upstairs into his room. It too, was empty, which he was partly glad for, but the other part felt mildly annoyed since he had no idea where everyone was. Wasn't he the secretive one in the family? Since when did everyone decide to act like _him_?

He took a quick shower and changed into more comfortable clothing before settling into bed and turning on the television. He always found the device amusing, watching varying programs of dumb human antics. He particularly appreciated the shows that featured what Bulma had informed him were called vampires - he laughed at the way they were portrayed, and it always turned his foul disposition into something slightly more pleasant.

He had been watching the televised program for a while, when he heard the door to his room creak open. He saw a small shadow and a pair of blue pigtails bobbing their way towards him. Turning his head to the side, he watched as his daughter struggled her way climbing up onto his bed.

It was several moments before she managed to get onto the bed. Kicking off her slippers, she crawled to him, and kneeled beside his head, looking down at him in a way he found a tad creepy. He raised a questioning eyebrow at her.

"Papa?" she asked tentatively, leaning forward until her face was inches from his own.

He grunted, trying not wince at such close proximity to another being.

"Are you still mad?" she asked petulantly, biting her lower lip - a trait that was her mother's.

He grunted again.

"Why are you mad?"

"I'm not mad," he answered, looking away from her. He was growing more uncomfortable by the second.

"Yes you are. Why are you mad?"

"Not mad. Now stop asking stupid questions, you're acting as annoying as your mother."

"Why are you mad?"

Vegeta rolled his eyes. He knew full well how persistent Bra could be, and he knew that she wouldn't be satisfied until he gave her his answer. He also knew that she could tell when he was lying, which meant that she wouldn't leave him alone until he told her the truth.

"That Weakling irritates me," he said stiffly, avoiding her stare.

"Why?"

"He's an oaf, that's why."

She laughed softly at his comment. "I think so too."

He didn't reply, but he did offer a smirk at her direction.

"Uncle Yamcha may be an oaf, but he _does_ mean well," she said.

He furrowed his brows. "Why do you sound so mature? You are only five years old, girl."

She made a _tsk_ noise at him. "You told me to stop speaking like a nitwit and to use proper vocabulary because no child of yours will have the intellect of Kakarot or anyone related to him in anyway."

He sniggered at this bit of information, unable to contain his amusement that his daughter took him so literally. Although he was proud that she spoke properly, unlike the other small children she conglomerated with during daytime hours.

"Are you still mad, Papa?"

He shrugged his shoulders, his gaze still forward on the television screen. He suddenly felt a pair of small hands upon his cheeks, gently turning his face until he was looking directly at the girl.

"I like Uncle Yamcha, Papa. But that doesn't mean I don't appreciate _you_."

He pulled a face. He had no desire to "talk out his problems" the way Bulma so enjoyed, and he was not impressed that such another trait of hers was being passed down to their youngest child.

"I like it when Uncle Yamcha comes over to visit, but I like seeing _you_ every day."

_Great_. She was getting sentimental now, which always made him feel guilty, though he never knew why.

"I think Uncle Yamcha would be a good father, but I'm glad he isn't mine."

"Hn."

"He's not as handsome as _you_ are, Papa!" she exclaimed, smiling at him brightly. She gave him a small kiss on the nose. "And he isn't as smart as you, or as strong as you are."

"That much is obvious," he said snidely, giving her a satisfied grin. "Whoever can't figure that out is more of an oaf than Kakarot and Yamcha combined."

Bra let go of his face. She made herself comfortable on his bed, squirming around until her right side was completely attached to his left.

"If Uncle Yamcha was my father, I wouldn't be a princess, would I?"

"Of course not. You have _me_ to thank for that."

"And maybe I would have scars on my face." Vegeta chuckled at this comment. He decided not to tell her that the Weakling had somehow acquired those scars, and that he wasn't born with them. As long as his daughter knew the other man was inferior was good enough.

"I don't think I'd be so pretty if he was my father," she continued, yawning into his bicep. "Don't you think?"

"I think you're fine the way you are. He's not your father, so you can give this conversation a rest."

He felt her nod, and he heard her hum, and within a few seconds, the girl was asleep by his side. Vegeta grabbed the remote on the nightstand, and lowered the volume of the program.

He was beginning to get drowsy when his bedroom door opened wider now, revealing the silhouette of his wife. Through heavy eyelids, he watched her lean over the bed, patting the girl awake.

"Bra," Bulma said with a lilting voice. "Get up now, kiddo. You need to go back to your own room."

Bra moaned softly, but slowly came to consciousness. "Huh?"

"Wake up, hon, Mommy and Daddy are tired, and you need to sleep in your own bed."

"Okay," the girl replied sleepily, getting up and rubbing her eyes. "Good night, Mommy."

"Good night, baby girl," Bulma said, and the two exchanged a kiss on the cheek. "And don't forget a kiss for Daddy."

"He already got one tonight," Bra said, glancing over her shoulder to her father. Vegeta grunted in confirmation. "But I guess it wouldn't hurt if he got another one." She gave him an especially sound kiss on his cheek, which made him inwardly wince. But he did appreciate it, all the same.

Both parents watched as the girl hopped off the bed, grabbed her slippers, and pranced out of the room, shutting the door behind her. Bulma left the bedside momentarily, changing out of her dress and into a nightgown. She padded her way across the room and slid onto the bed.

Minutes of silence passed between them. Usually, Vegeta would've felt nothing at such an exchange, as he preferred silence over any type of talk at all. But tonight, her silence made him slightly apprehensive.

"Say something, woman," he muttered, folding an arm beneath his head. "I know you're just bursting to run your mouth off."

"I do say," Bulma began, turning to her side and propping her own head up with her hand, "as much as I love how gentle you are with Bra, I would like that you showed _me_ the same courtesy sometimes, instead of speaking to me like I'm your subordinate."

He made no reply to her comment, but he did tighten his mouth into a thin line. She always found a way to make him feel guilty.

"I know you're not in your best mood tonight, but should that really allow you to treat me so poorly? After all, _I'm_ not that one you're upset with."

"You chose _me_, you moron," he ground out, turning away from her. "You left that dunce for _me_."

She sighed. "I'm very well aware of that fact."

"Hn." He had thought that that'd be the end of the conversation, until he felt a smooth hand running along his side in a tantalizing manner. He closed his eyes, and shifted his weight until he was once more lying on his back. He looked over at her, and saw that she was smiling. She may have always known how to make him feel guilty, but she always did know how to manage getting him to succumb to her too.

"I know that you like upsetting Yamcha. But I think it's rather funny that _you_ got served today."

He quickly snatched her hand away from his stomach, stopping her movements with his grip. He shot her a steely glare.

Of course, Bulma wasn't fazed by this, as she was used to him from years of his companionship. "If you let go, then you'd get to listen to my explanation."

He didn't want to listen to anything, but he let go of her anyway. He sat up and crossed his arms, waiting for her to begin.

"Oh Vegeta, stop sulking like a baby, you're much beyond that." She moved closer to him, pried one arm away from his clutches, and held onto his hand, thumbing his palm in circular motions. His nose twitched at her actions.

"I think it's only fair that Yamcha gets to win once in a while, you know. You should be able to sympathize, as a fighter yourself. There's a sense of pride within him."

He gave her a disbelieving look and snorted. "What does _he_ know of pride?"

She raised her brow archly at him. "I'll have you know, Yamcha is an incredibly proud person. A lot like _you_, actually. And you know full well how it sucks to have your pride taken away from you. Can't you imagine what it might feel like for Yamcha?"

"No, nor do I want to."

"Well," she began, running her fingers along the inside of his arm, "it must be awfully terrible for him to be constantly embarrassed in front of his friends."

He rolled his eyes.

"And it must be trying to pretend like nothing's wrong because he doesn't want to lose face."

He grunted.

"But most of all, it must be excruciatingly painful to have to tolerate such embarrassment in front of your ex-girlfriend, her children, and the man she married, who just so happens to be the same man who killed him once, seduced his girlfriend, and the one causing the embarrassment."

He had to admit, she did have a point there.

"Understand that _yes_, I _did_ choose you. But that doesn't mean that I can't sympathize with Yamcha. Nor does it mean that I'll always side with you. If you're constantly being a jerk, then it's inevitable that you'll eventually get shot in the ass with your come-uppance."

He let out the breath he was holding in. He turned to face her, and said, "He deserves such treatment if he is to constantly come over to _my_ house, and act like _he_ owns it. _I'm_ the leader of this household, he should know that!"

"He does," she told him, her hand now transferring to his chest. She rubbed him in circles. "Why else do you think he does it?"

He waited for her answer, and moved very slightly over to accommodate her touch.

"You may have been jealous of him today. But I'm pretty sure Yamcha's jealous of you _every_ day."

"Go on."

She shook her head slowly at him, but smiled indulgently. "Think about it, Vegeta. Sure, you can't match him in height - " he shot her a look, " - but you're stronger than he will ever be. You're a saiyan prince, compared to his common man. You're far more intelligent than he is, and you have common sense. Plus, I find that you are the most attractive man, and I in no way regret leaving him for you. Even when you're being a douche."

"Perhaps."

"Let Yamcha wish what he wants to wish. And let him prattle on about whatever he wants to say. Everyone - including him - knows that I love you, that you're the only one I'll ever consider having kids with, and that I'm content with the way things are. He lives in the past. Don't let him drag you there with him."

Vegeta often hated it when Bulma insisted on conversing right before bed. But tonight, he didn't mind as much. Probably because she was singing his praises, which did nothing but stroke his ego to new heights.

"You were bored when I came to live with you in this compound," he said, looking at her with an arrogant smirk. "You should be _glad_ that you were able to gain my affection. Your life would be highly unbearable if not for my presence."

"_Much_ _agreed_," she murmured, and pulled his head in for a kiss. Adjusting her position, she lifted one leg across his, until she straddled him, and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, kissing him more deeply. She moaned and gave a breathless sigh, before pulling away, slightly.

"Are you still mad?" she asked in a small voice, looking at him with large, round eyes.

He didn't give her a verbal answer, but instead, stroked her thighs with his palms seductively, and captured her lips with his own. She complied, letting his tongue wander into her mouth, as she pressed her body onto his.

No, he was no longer mad, and, because he wasn't in the mood to hold a grudge, he dropped his anger to make room for more concentration on finding pleasure with his wife.

* * *

**a/n:** I hope you have enjoyed reading the second chapter! Again, this is a series of one-shots, so I can't really say how many chapters there will be. And no, there is no particular timeline, which is why Bra is five, rather than an infant. And don't worry, I haven't forgotten about Trunks.

Review please, because I'd like to know how I'm doing writing for DBZ!


	3. Thick Heads

"I am worried that your son is showing violent tendencies toward his peers."

Vegeta heard himself make a derisive noise, but instead of spitting out a snarky comment like he normally would, he sat still and endured. He had promised Bulma he would, and oh how he was regretting it.

He didn't see the purpose of his boy attending school, as he well believed that everything Trunks needed to know about life, he could've taught him within three hours. But Bulma insisted that their son needed to go to school, needed to learn more so as to enhance his already excessive amounts of intelligence, and he needed to make friends outside of Son Goten.

He didn't argue with her about the bit to do with Kakarot's spawn, as he agreed whole heartedly with his mate that Trunks needed to surround himself with other human species aside from the other boy. But he supposed, as a father, that he was grateful that Trunks found such friendship in Goten. And besides, Goten was raised by that shrew Chi Chi, and Kakarot was dead, so perhaps, and this was wishful thinking on his part, the boy wasn't as aloof as Vegeta gave him credit for.

But Vegeta didn't like the concept of school for Earthlings, and he didn't understand the gain in education. And he didn't like that every time a parent-teacher conference was held, _he_ was the one attending rather than Bulma, because she was constantly busy with her father's company.

He hated parent-teacher conferences; he hated that he always had to be on his best behaviour, had to keep Bulma and Capsule Corporation's image intact, and that he always had to dress suitably to meet Trunks' educators. He'd rather be back with Frieza than sitting compliantly in a school.

No, that wasn't true, but he hated it all the same.

"This is a serious matter, Mr. Brief," the woman said, tilting her head downwards so that she could peer at him from above her spectacles. "Violence is strictly forbidden in school."

Vegeta rolled his eyes and scowled at her. Trunks had entered the first grade just a month ago, and Bulma was more than pleased that her son was starting his educational career. However, a new grade also meant a new educator, and Trunks was transferred to a new school, so not only was Vegeta unfamiliar with his surroundings and the woman in front of him, but the school staff were unfamiliar with him and his temper.

The saiyan didn't like being referred to as _Mr_. _Brief_; it was as if his mate owned him, and he was dependent on her. But since he was no human, he didn't have what Bulma called a _surname_, which made it difficult for him in public when one needed to call to him with respect. And since everyone by now was aware of his connection to Bulma, they always called him _Mr_. _Brief_. Nobody knew that the two weren't married, but Bulma had told him not to reveal that - it didn't look good on either of them, and it would affect their son, if everyone got news that the famous Bulma Brief was engaged in an affair that resulted in having a baby without having properly been married off first.

He could care less what every other human thought of him, his boy, and his woman, but, out of respect for Bulma, he agreed and said nothing. But it did hurt his ego every time one referred to him as _Mr_. _Brief_", and that everyone knew Trunks' surname was _Brief_, rather than _Vegeta._

Not that _Trunks_ _Vegeta_ sounded in any way appealing, but it was a bit irritating when everyone assumed that Bulma was the alpha in their relationship. Clearly _he_ was the alpha. Either that or they were both alphas, considering how bull-headed his mate could be.

"Mr. Brief, are you listening to me?" the woman in front of him asked, furrowing her brows at him. "Must I stress to you again, how dire this situation is?"

"_Dire_, you say?" Vegeta asked, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow.

"_Yes_," the woman replied, sighing huffily. "Your son is a liability until he can learn to control his temper! He cannot expect to solve every problem with physical force. And since he seems to be stronger than any six year-old I have ever met, I must tell you that you and your wife need to sit him down and explain to him that attacking another student is _not_ the answer to a problem!"

Vegeta shifted in his seat in annoyance. He wasn't upset that Trunks had punched another boy in the eye, nor was he concerned that his son did any damage to his offender. The child was only six, and his training was only just starting to become more intense. There could be no way that the student concerned sustained any injuries.

However, he was aware that Earthlings had a lower pain tolerance than a saiyan, and proud as he was that Trunks did emit more strength than he would've expected, he supposed that perhaps, just _perhaps_, a bit of damage was caused.

But still, he didn't care much about that. All he cared for at the moment was getting back to the compound, into his Gravity Room, and slamming a robot into pieces out of frustration for sitting in this forsaken chair.

"As his educator, I would assume that it should be _your_ place to teach him what is and isn't acceptable in a school environment, _not_ me," Vegeta said sardonically. He crossed his arms tightly around his chest, glaring daggers at the offender in front of him.

"And it should be stated, Mr. Brief, that as Trunks' _parent_, _you_ should be teaching him to be well-behaved in a social setting."

"I see no issue with the boy's behaviour."

The woman gaped openly at him. "You see no issue with Trunks' behaviour?" When all she got was an eyebrow raised, she continued on with her rant. "Must I remind you that it is _your_ son who has been running wild, attacking fellow students, for no particular reason?"

Vegeta scoffed at this. "You are wrong. It doesn't take an imbecile to realize that a child must have been provoked into attack mode."

The teacher didn't provide him with a reply, but instead, thrust herself back in her chair, and pulled onto her hair. Vegeta, on the other hand, looked on with no emotion, bored out of his mind, and about ready to snap the woman's neck for taking up his precious training time.

"Mr. Brief, we have been in this discussion for the last thirty minutes. Surely, you realize that your son is in the wrong?"

"No."

The woman gave him a frustrated growl, sat up quickly, and glared at him with equal defiance. "Then I see no point in continuing on with this conversation. Your son will meet the consequences for his actions, and this matter will need to be taken up with the head master. I have tried to explain the situation to you, and to pan out - _together_ - an agreeable means of punishment, but seeing as you refuse to acknowledge that your son has done any wrong, I am afraid that there is nothing I can do, and that further actions will be given to the administrative body of the school. The principal will be in contact with you, Mr. Brief. You are dismissed."

"_Hn_." With that, the saiyan rose from his seat, and exited the classroom, slamming the door loudly behind him. He noticed that Trunks was seated on a chair beside the doorway, a look of anger playing on the younger one's features. Vegeta did not wait for the boy to catch up to him, but continued walking until Trunks followed sullenly behind, back to the school's parking lot.

* * *

Trunks did not speak for the duration of the ride back home, which was perfectly fine with his father. The older saiyan had always preferred silence, and the boy was at that stage in his life where he just couldn't shut up. Surprisingly, though, the boy had nothing to say, but sat in the passenger seat, arms crossed tightly, doing nothing but looking ahead at the traffic, as though he had been wronged for a lifetime.

Once back home, however, the boy raced out of the car, and practically zoomed upstairs to his room; Vegeta heard the door slam, and felt the vibrations of the action shaking throughout the compound. Instead of making his way to his son, he made his way into the kitchen, grabbed a snack, and decided to head back into his Gravity Room.

He didn't feel like dealing with a temper tantrum, especially one thrown by Trunks, who became downright impossible to get through if he was in one of his moods. Though Vegeta could've quickly put a stop to the boy's tantrums with a single ki blast to the mouth, he knew Bulma wouldn't be entirely too pleased with such choice of actions, so he left the kid alone. Plus, he wasn't good at the parenting stuff the way Bulma was. He didn't think he'd have much in the advice department, and he wasn't opposed to violence as a means of settling a disagreement. He doubted anything he would have to say to the boy would make him feel any better.

Walking through the hallways of the compound, he was stopped when he heard Bulma calling to him. He had two choices: pretend to ignore her, or acknowledge the damned beast. Vegeta weighed his options; if he ignored her, she would know, and she would bug him to his wit's end. However, if he acknowledged her, then eventually, her conversation would put him at his wit's end.

He opted for the former, seeing as the day couldn't get any worse, and walked right past the room she was in. Of course she saw him, since she never missed anything if it concerned him.

"Vegeta!" she called out, and he heard her footsteps approaching the entrance of the living room. "_Vegeta_! Get back here, I'm talking to you!"

He grunted, but kept on walking until she ran right up to him, and stepped around him so that he was facing her. He raised an eyebrow.

"Yes?"

"You jerk! I _know_ you heard me the first time!"

"So?"

"Well, get back in the living room and tell me what the hell happened with Trunks at school!" she demanded, pushing him none too lightly on the chest backwards. Needless to say, her actions caused no reaction in him, as he stood solidly where he was.

"I suggest you keep your hands to yourself, imbecile," he said icily, looking down at him from above his nose. "And why do you care what happened to the boy? If you cared so much, _you_ would have been the one at the meeting, not _me_."

She slit her eyes suspiciously at him, and was silent for a few moments, before she asked, "What did you _do_, Vegeta?"

"Nothing."

Her eyes narrowed further. "You did something. And knowing you, it can't be any good."

He rolled his eyes, attempting to move past her, but she blocked him quite well in the narrow hallway. "What happened?"

Vegeta snorted. Never one to beat around the bush, he simply said, "That child of yours is being reprimanded."

"Reason?"

He shrugged. "Hitting another child."

Bulma groaned at this news. She wasn't surprised that her lover was taking the matter lightly, but what she was surprised about was the fact that it was her sweet little Trunks throwing fists. "Do you know why he was fighting?"

"The only logical explanation I can give is that the boy is establishing himself as leader."

It was Bulma's turn to roll her eyes. "Didn't you even ask him what the problem was?"

He gave her a look of derision. "Why would I do that?"

She looked at him like he was an idiot. "... To find out what the problem is?"

"I don't bloody care what that fool's problem is, it is not my concern."

"You're his father; _everything_ he does is your concern!" Bulma exclaimed, hands on her hips. Her nostrils flared, as she said, "You are going to get upstairs, Vegeta, and you are _not_ coming down until you figure out what the hell that kid's up to and why!"

"I do not take orders from the likes of _you_, woman," he sneered, taking a defensive stance. "I will do nothing of the sort. Now get out of my way!"

"You're not getting any dinner if you're not hauling your ass upstairs to Trunks' room this instant!"

"Be realistic, _dunce_," he said, shaking his head at her. "I can terrify that fool of a woman you call your mother into making me something one way or another. You'll have to try harder than that."

Bulma eyed the prince, giving him a calculating stare. "Why are you so opposed to talking to him?"

"Because I don't want to, that's why."

"Why not? Are you scared of him?"

"As if I would be afraid of a mere child!" Vegeta bit out, snarling at the offensive woman in front of him.

"Oh my god, you're a coward!" Bulma announced shaking her head at in incredulously. "You don't want to talk to him because you're afraid!"

"Don't be ridiculous, I fear no one and _nothing_!"

"Ladies and gentlemen, the Prince of Saiyans is too scared to talk to his six year old son!" Bulma said giddily, clapping her hands together. "This is just precious!"

"_No_ _I'm_ _not_!" Vegeta roared, eyes bulging out from such an accusation. His hands were shaking at his sides, threatening to throttle his mate.

"_Then_ _prove_ _it_," she said, her voice daring and sly. "Go upstairs, talk to him, and find out what's wrong. And then I'll know whether or not I'm right."

The woman was impossible, but she knew how to press his buttons, and he hated her for that alone. He was never one to pass up on a dare, as ridiculous or trivial as it might be. Her goading always managed to prompt him to act against his will, just so that he could find an opportunity to prove her wrong.

"Fine!" he snapped, sticking his face inches from hers. "I will talk to the boy, I will find out what his problem is, and I'll even provide him with a solution."

"And if you don't?" she asked, provoking him even further. She kept up a cool stance, not budging from her spot, even as he came closer to her.

She saw her mate fidget slightly at this imposing problem. She had dared him to figure out the problem and console the boy, but he himself added that he would come up with a solution. In a fit of rage, he had dared himself to greater heights that even he doubted he could overcome.

When Vegeta said nothing to her inquiry, she pressed further on. "And if you don't," she said, raising one eyebrow in a manner that was all too similar with the alien in front of her, "then for the next month, you will spend a minimum required amount of eight hours per week with him in activities _other_ than training."

"That's _preposterous_!" His voice alone was enough to shake the entire compound. "What kind of shit deal _is_ that?"

"Are you implying that you think spending time with your own son is considered a 'shit deal'?" she asked in a steely voice. She noticed that he stepped back from her, which gave her more room to corner him in the hall. "Are you seriously telling me that you think spending time with your son is a _waste_ of _time_?"

Vegeta knew better than to answer a question like that. He wasn't stupid enough to step into such a trap. He also knew how fond of the boy Bulma was, and how their child meant everything in the world to her. How was he supposed to answer such a question without offending her?

And it wasn't that he thought spending time with the boy was a waste of time. In fact, he had now begun training the boy, in hopes that his child would surpass those of Kakarot's in strength and intelligence. However, spending time alone with Trunks outside of training would not only waste _his_ time, but would waste the boy's time because it would take away from his concentration.

Besides, what else could a father do with his son other than training?

Vegeta looked down at the woman. His breathing was still uneven from his sudden outburst, and he was stewing inside from the task at hand she had set up for him. He was trapped.

"_Fine_," he bit out, sending her a cool glare. "I will comply with your request."

She gave him a satisfied smirk, tilting her head up to meet his. A couple of seconds passed, but as she turned around, ready to make her way back into the den, he stopped her.

"However," he said in a mocking tone, making her freeze in her tracks. He waited until she glanced back at him over her shoulder before he continued, "should I win this wager, it puts you in my debt."

Vegeta returned her satisfied smirk with one of his own, as he watched Bulma slowly turn back towards him, walking over until she stood directly in front of him.

"Go on."

"_After_ I have spoken to him, pried the issue out from him, and provided him with proficient advice," Vegeta started, making sure that his implications of his success was well understood, "you will need to do something for _me_."

She lifted a brow, but only said, "Name your terms, Diablo."

He couldn't help but grin slightly at this new nick name he acquired. "You will increase the amount of gravity offered in my Gravity Room," he began, now walking in small circles around her. He didn't have much room in such a cramped hallway, but she was slight enough to allow him to do so. And he wanted to intimidate her. "The boy will train with me, at _minimum_, sixty hours a week."

He watched her bristle at this request, but he was quite impressed with her ability to stay silent, so as to let him continue. "For the remainder of the school year, _you_ will be the _sole_ parent to endure _any_ school meeting."

He heard her grumble at that one and he smirked, knowing that her working hours would most definitely take a blunder.

"And lastly, for the next month, you will work to my pleasure in the bed chamber."

She made a sound of disgust. "Honestly, Vegeta, every wager from you always has to have some sort of lewdness connected to it."

He said nothing, but only gave her that evil smile she was all too used to by now.

"I understand your terms," she replied offhandedly, tapping a slender finger along her jaw. "But I notice that you have listed four requests compared to my one."

"The task at hand is already more than necessary, witch."

"No," she said, crossing her arms. "I want one more term."

He rolled his eyes. He could deny her this request, but he was, after all, a fair person, and so he nodded at her, waiting to hear what she wanted to say.

"Along with spending the required eight hours a week with our son, you will also accompany me to my company's annual Employee Extravaganza."

Vegeta felt his blood boil. He shouldn't have let her name her last term.

"It's only fair," Bulma replied, seeing the wrath in her lover's eyes. "Take it or leave it, and you'll forever be a coward who's too afraid to face his own six year old son."

If he didn't like her as much as he did, or even respect her as much as he did, his fist would've pummeled a permanent hole to her head by now.

"_Deal_?" she asked in a sickeningly sweet tone. She stuck out her hand.

There was no other course of action other than compliance. He roughly grabbed her hand in his own calloused one, and shook as hard as he could, causing her to stumble forward. Without letting go of that hand, he pulled her close towards him, and whispered in an acidic tone: "_You'll rue the day you called me a coward_."

And with that, the prince shoved his woman aside, and made his way upstairs towards the boy.

* * *

If the saiyan listened hard enough, he'd swear that he could hear Trunks' eyes rolling in their sockets.

And for an individual who already had a very limited amount of patience, it was beginning to wear extremely thin.

"_Open the damned door, boy_!" Vegeta hollered, making the door in front of him rattle. He had already requested for the kid to open the door twice, to no avail.

"Go away, Dad," came the muffled but calm reply from the other side.

"Should this door still remain shut, I will blast it, and everything in that room, to hell!"

"Really, Dad, do you honestly think that - "

The boy had no time to finish the rest of his sentence, as he was literally blown off his bed from the force of the blast that came rushing through his door.

Still fuming from his son's resistance, Vegeta stalked into the room with all the finesse of a gorilla. He glared daggers into the boy's eyes, and growled so low that he was barely audible.

The boy spared his father only the smallest of glances before looking up towards the ceiling and shaking his head. He picked himself off from all the rubble that used to be his room, and settled upon a pile of singed blankets and sheet. He crossed his arms, and looked at the man in the room.

"What?" Trunks asked bluntly, clearly not unimpressed.

"When I ask you to open the door, _you open the fucking door_!" Vegeta boomed, not caring in the slightest for censoring his language.

"_Actually_ Dad, you never asked. You just demanded."

"Are you questioning me, boy?"

"No questions were involved Dad, hence why I said you never asked me to open the door."

Vegeta immediately shot towards his son and knocked him on the side of his head. "Your smart mouth is just about to get you killed, Trunks," he hissed.

Hardly fazed, Trunks merely shook his head of the pain, and glared up at his father.

"What do you _want_?" he asked stiffly, as angry at his father as the man was at him.

"Your mother demands to know why you were involved in a fight," Vegeta bit out, looking at his son sideways.

"If _Mom_ wants to know, then why are _you_ the one asking?"

"_Because she asked me to_!" Vegeta said scathingly. He was getting more agitated by the second, and had to admit that he was unprepared for such thick-headedness.

"Well, you can tell her that if she wants to know, I'll tell her myself later," Trunks replied offhandedly. He got off from his makeshift seat, and walked out of the large expanse of cracked wall where his door used to be. "You can go back to training now, Dad."

The saiyan thrust out an arm, grabbed his son by the scruff of the neck, and threw him back onto the pile. "Answer _now_, boy."

The boy scrabbled for his neck until his father let go. "_Geez_, Dad! Don't _do_ that!"

"_Answer_!"

"Why do you care?" Trunks fought back, getting into a defensive stance. "You never care about anything, especially if it has to do with _me_!"

This caught Vegeta's attention. His head snapped towards his son, and he raised an eyebrow. "_Explain_."

"Not necessary," Trunks said, waving his hand at the taller man in front of him. "You don't ever listen to half of the stuff I say anyway."

"Like I can actually block out your incessant chittering. I have the best hearing of anyone in the vicinity."

"Just because you _hear_ something, doesn't mean you're _listening_."

"If it's a trivial matter, I see no point in listening."

Trunks sighed angrily. "_Everything_ to you is a trivial matter, Dad."

Vegeta understood why he was irritated, but he was confused as to why his son would be. What did the boy have to complain about? He had everything a child could possibly want; two parents under one household, material wealth, enough brain power to match his mother, friends, and inherited saiyan strength. And he also won a fight at school.

If he were younger, he'd be reaping the benefits.

"Tell me why you engaged in a fight today, Trunks."

"No!" Trunks cried, running over to push his father out of the room. "I don't _want_ to, _you_ don't want to hear it, and we both know Mom will come upstairs anyway to ask, so _leave_ _me_ _alone_!"

While most who tried to physically harass him usually got nowhere, he stumbled with surprise at the brute force of his son's actions. He had to fight a bit to stay firmly in place where he stood.

"You will remove your hands from me before _I_ remove them from _you_," Vegeta hissed, crossing his arms. "Now sit your ass down, and tell me what your problem is."

"Yeah, that's a way to get a kid to tell you something in confidence," Trunks said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You're the best dad ever."

It took every fibre of his being to hold back from pummeling the boy to oblivion.

"Fine. Sit there and stew!" Vegeta said exasperatedly, throwing his hands wildly in the air. "But if you refuse to tell me what your issue is then, perhaps you should tell me why you don't believe I listen to you."

"Because you don't," Trunks answered without missing a beat, sticking his tongue out. "You only care about me when you want me to train. And even in the Gravity Room, you forbid me to talk to you!"

"And if you keep up with your blabbering, it will take away from your concentration!"

"You don't like playing with me if we're not training, Dad. You ignore me whenever I walk into the same room as you do! You only talk to me when you have to, such as now!"

"I am not talking to you right now because I have to," Vegeta said, his eyes narrowing. "I am speaking to you because I _want_ to."

Trunks made a derisive noise through his nose. "Yeah, right. The walls aren't _that_ thick, you know. Anyone could hear the bet you and mom made."

"And you have your answer. I'm talking to you because I want to, and I want to win."

"You're doing it because you have to. You can't lose against mom, because you don't want to play with me when we aren't training. And you don't want to attend her stupid party!"

"You are too old to go _without_ training," Vegeta yelled, his fuse finally at its end point. "I train you because I don't want you to be a failure!"

"You train me because you want me to be better than Goten and Gohan! You don't care about what _I_ want!"

"Because you only want juvenile things!"

"I don't care if I'm stronger than Goten! He's my friend, and I don't want him to be mad at me!"

Vegeta snickered at this comment. "Kakarot's bastard son is not worth your time or mine!"

"Goten's my friend! He's worth my time, he talks to me, and he always wants to play. And at least I _have_ friends, Dad. What do _you_ have?"

Vegeta had been seconds away from fulfilling his desire to beat the boy, until a shrill voice interrupted their heated argument.

"_What is all the yelling and screaming about_?"

Both heads turned towards the door to the blue-haired woman. Bulma's eyes were bulging, her temple was throbbing, and to Vegeta, it looked as though she was more likely to blow up than he was.

She turned towards her mate. "All I asked, _Vegeta_," she spat out, walking over to him and poking him hard on the chest, "is that you come upstairs to talk to you son, and try to console him about what happened at school today. He was already in one fight! Why are you picking another one?"

His usual smart replies were gone this instant, and he stiffened from the look she gave him.

And then she turned on her son. "And _you_!" she cried, hands on her hips and bending forward until she was practically nose-to-nose with the boy. "You should know better than to provoke your father! Everyone knows how sensitive and insensitive he can be!"

Vegeta bit his lip to keep from responding to his woman's words. He readily admitted to being insensitive, not caring for the welfare of others or their feelings. But he was not _sensitive_!

After a few moments of silence, the saiyan heard Trunks clear his throat. Both adults looked at him before he spoke.

"I don't want to talk to Dad about school today," he said petulantly, looking at his mother but refusing to meet his father's glare.

"And why not?" Bulma asked calmly. That calm demeanor didn't stop her from giving her husband an evil look, however.

"Because he doesn't care, and if he actually _did_ listen, he'll make fun of me."

Vegeta rolled his eyes, something he realized he'd been doing quite often this afternoon. However, he did acknowledge the truth in Trunks' explanation, as he was likely to make fun of the boy.

"Don't be silly, Trunks, of _course_ your Dad cares!" Bulma exclaimed, reaching forward and pulling the boy into a tight hug. Again, Vegeta rolled his eyes. "Just because he only grunts and growls, and makes the occasional crude comment, it doesn't mean he doesn't care!"

"How do _you_ know?"

"Well... who was the one who went in to see your teacher, _hmm_?" Bulma began, releasing Trunks from her embrace. "It was your _father_, wasn't it?"

Trunks nodded, barely.

"And who was the one who defended you in front of your teacher? It was your father."

Trunks shrugged.

"And he drove you back home because you missed the school bus since you got into trouble."

Trunks grunted.

"And, even though I don't agree with what you did at school today, it was your father who taught you how to defend yourself against bullies."

Trunks rolled his eyes.

"And," Bulma finished, smiling brightly at the small boy in front of her, "he did come upstairs after giving you some personal space, to ask why you were fighting."

"He didn't _ask_!" the boy spat out, crossing his arms.

Vegeta raised an eyebrow at the defiant tone in Trunks' voice. He also noticed how much the boy looked like him in this instance; his feet were shoulder-width apart, his head was tilted up, eyes closed tight, and face pulled in anger. Lavender hair aside, it was as if he were looking at a miniscule version of himself. He wasn't sure if he liked it.

"Maybe not," Bulma said soothingly, stroking the boy's head tenderly, "but coming from Vegeta, it shows that he _does_ care for you, Trunks."

"Why does _he_ always get to act like an ass, and _I_ get yelled at when I treat him the same way?"

"_I_ _am_ _your_ _father_!" Vegeta interrupted, his hands by his sides turning into fists. "It is your _duty_ to show me some respect!"

"I'll show you some respect when you start acting like a dad!" Trunks replied hotly, his own hands coming to his sides and turning into fists. He took a few calming breaths before saying, "_Fine_! If you want to know so much about me, then I'll tell you what happened at school today!"

"Fine," Vegeta said, his tone bitter. "_I'm_ _listening_."

Trunks caught the sarcasm in his father's words, but a look from Bulma caused him to drop the issue and continue on with his story.

"There was a new kid at school today, and stupid Kenneth kept picking on 'em, so I decided to serve him up a good one."

Bulma blinked before she responded. "Sweetie, as nice as it is to hear you defending a new boy, you can't use violence - "

"I never said it was a boy," Trunks said quickly, gazing hard at his fingers.

It was a moment before Bulma said hesitantly, "The new kid at school is a _girl_?"

Trunks nodded, as his cheeks turned red slowly. "Yeah."

Vegeta rolled his eyes as he watched his mate's facial expression change from mild disappointment to adoration.

"Oh _Trunks_!" Bulma squealed, wringing her arms around the boy's neck. "You defended a _girl_!"

"Mom! No - _stop_ it!" he cried, his voice muffled, as he tried to disengage from his mother. "It's not what you think - "

"My baby boy is growing up and now he has a _crush_ on a _girl_!"

"_Mooooom_!" Trunks hollered, finally managing to escape. His face was completely crimson by now. "_I don't have a crush on her_!"

Bulma giggled, looking brightly at the boy. "Oh, I know I should be upset that you were fighting at school today, but _Trunks_! I had no idea how chivalrous you are!"

"_Shiva_-_what_?"

"You are _just_ the sweetest little boy _ever_!" Bulma said delightedly, clapping her hands together. "Is she a cutie?"

"_Mom_!"

The woman sighed contently. She walked over to her husband, and grabbed one of his arms between her two. "Vegeta, don't you think Trunks is just so sweet?"

Never being one to reply to redundant comments, Vegeta ignored her.

Trunks, however, looked downright mortified. His face was still tinged with colour, and he was glaring daggers at his mother, who seemed oblivious.

Having remained silent throughout the entire story, Vegeta contemplated what the boy had just admitted. He wasn't exactly sure how to respond to what he had just heard. On one hand, he approved that the boy won the fight with a single hit, and that he came out completely unhurt while his classmate was basically annihilated. On the other hand, he didn't respond to the concept of human feelings very well, so he was confused as to whether or not to be happy that the fight was fought in defense of a _girl_.

He felt a slight pressure on his arm, and realized that Bulma was still squeezing him tightly. He glanced towards her, and saw that she was practically brimming with happiness. He furrowed his brows.

He remembered a time, three years ago, when she had talked him into accompanying her to the grocery store. They had left the boy with Bulma's parents before heading to the store, his mood foul. She had talked non-stop throughout the entire car ride, and still had more to run off on throughout the entire shopping ordeal. He had left her by the produce section to wander off, giving his delicate ears a break from her shrill voice.

He remembered walking back towards her and noticing that she was surrounded by two men of significant larger stance than both her and him. He had watched from a distance their interaction; he watched as his mate's uncomfortable smile turned into anger, and he watched as the two men hovered around her, seemingly taunting her.

He recalled that one of the idiots had reached out to grab her, and he remembered how his vision became blurry, as he shot forward to knock out the offender and his companion with a single blow. He remembered how relief and pride replaced the look of shock and distress on Bulma's face, and he remembered that she called him her _Prince_ _Charming_.

He _hated_ that nick name, and he hated admitting to the fact that he did do something chivalrous for her. It made him more human, and it made him more likeable to her, and it made him confused.

But despite all the anger and confusion, he was also willing to admit that there was nothing wrong for a man to defend his woman.

As he came out of his reverie, Vegeta realized that he was looking at Bulma the entire time. She was looking at him curiously, a hint of a smile still playing on her lips. She cocked an eyebrow at him. He smirked, knowing that she was unable to read his thoughts.

Vegeta looked towards his son, who was still avoiding eye contact with both parents. He could understand the feeling of embarrassment and shame that came with admitting to a deed that did nothing for one's personal image. And he could understand how annoying the woman could be, now that she found out what her son did at school and why.

"The next time someone taunts the girl," Vegeta said into the silence, his voice seemingly doubling in volume and significance, "perhaps you should try a ki blast."

Trunks rolled his eyes at his father, but even he couldn't help a slight smirk playing on his lips. "Dad?"

"However, should you want to be more subtle about your power level, a simple knee in the groin should make your message clear enough."

Trunks paused hesitantly, before asking his father, "You don't think it's a stupid reason why I punched that guy?"

Vegeta pursed his lips. "I see no wrong in wanting to defend your woman."

The boy pulled a disgusted face at both his parents. "What the hell is _wrong_ with you guys? I'm only _six_! I don't _like_ girls! And I don't have a woman! Girls my age aren't _old_ enough to be _women_!"

"I can't believe our baby's got a _girlfriend_," Bulma cooed, letting go of her lover's arm to reach forward once more towards her son. "Such a Prince Charming! You take after your dad, don't you?"

Vegeta crossed his arms and stood in his signature stance, while Trunks groaned and squirmed in his mother's hold. Father and son exchanged wary glances; Vegeta's was significant for his approval of his son's actions, whereas Trunks' was significant of his gratitude that his father had actually decided to shut up and listen for a change.

Both, however, were wary of the fact that their relationship was now heading towards a different path, and both wondered how the other was going to react to it.

* * *

While Vegeta maintained that he had listened to the boy and provided him advice, Bulma had reminded him that were it not for her interference, the saiyan would have never gotten his hands on the problem. And so, both were at odds as to who won the bet.

And for once in their miserable lives, they both decided to compromise with one another; Vegeta made good on his promise of spending the required eight hours a week with his son engaging in what he called mind-numbingly stupid activities, and accompanied (very, _very_ grudgingly) his woman to her Employee Extravaganza; Bulma had installed the requested upgrades on the Gravity Room, promised to attend any other meeting at the school, and allowed the boy to train vigorously with his father.

As for Vegeta's last term of the bet, both he and his lover managed to comply with that quite readily.


	4. Starting from Scratch

"You're still here."

He didn't turn around to look at her as she made that comment; he kept his head town and tilted to the side, glancing at the wall beside him.

"Why?"

His brows furrowed at this question. He was expecting it, but he didn't expect it now, so soon.

The Cell Games were over. Kakarot had died, and refused to come back to Earth. He was still not the strongest being in the Universe, having been usurped by that twerp, Son Gohan. The enemy was gone, and now, after all these years on Earth, all those hours spent training, left him with _nothing_.

"You asked me to stay here, three years ago," Vegeta said stonily, not looking at the woman in the room. Instead, his eyes fell on the sleeping infant in its crib, completely unaware of the cold war happening in his room.

She didn't miss a beat. "And in those three years, most of that time you spent _away_ from here."

That much was true. She had invited him, and he grudgingly stayed, long enough to take advantage of everything she had to offer; intelligence, home, sustenance, technology, and body.

He hadn't intended to couple with her, and he was almost just as sure that she felt the same. But he was lonely on a planet with nobody else who was even close to understanding him, save for this creature who was bold and vulgar enough to stand up for herself in front of him. He had always been attracted to that trait of hers.

"You don't need to stay; we both know there is nothing left for you here."

The words stung, but he was too proud to give her a reaction. He continued to watch the sleeping baby, breathing slowly but heavily, unsure of what to do.

He had met the boy from the future, the one that grew up without him. The same boy that was now sleeping in the crib, but older, more mature, and just as lonely as he was. He could still see quite clearly, the family resemblance of the older boy, could still hear the same harsh tones in his voice, and sense the feel of dejection every time he was around him.

The boy had haunted his dreams for the past three years, and when he finally revealed his true identity, Vegeta couldn't help but feel resentful towards him. Despite the fact that the boy was living in an apocalyptic world, despite the fact that he was alone and with little hope, the boy still had something he didn't - he had someone whom he could rely on.

The saiyan couldn't say the same for himself - who did _he_ have? The mother of his child was barely in his life, and neither was her son. He couldn't even say this infant was his, he had missed too much, and neglected too much, for the child to recognize him and accept him. And judging by his current situation, Trunks' mother was in no way pleased with his presence in her home.

"You made it clear that you wanted nothing to do with me or my son," Bulma said bitterly, walking over to the crib and looking down. Her features turned from angry to tender the moment she set her eyes on the boy. "You left us, you never cared for our well being, and you acted as though we didn't even exist."

He breathed out loudly through his nose, taking in the words she was throwing at him. He watched her as she lifted to pick up the baby, who was still too far gone in his slumber to realize he was being disturbed. She held the child close to her chest, brows furrowing in the same manner as his own, as she took a defensive stance.

"You don't _like_ me. You made that clear enough. All you wanted from me was the Gravity Room and sex. Well, guess what, jerk? The Tournament's over. There's no more point in your training, and I don't have the time to cling onto hope that maybe you'll change. _We_ _don't_ _need_ _you_ _here_."

And with that, she stalked past him, still clutching the sleeping baby, and walked out of the room, without even so much as a glance back to the man she was going to abandon, in the same way he abandoned her.

* * *

He had no idea how long he stood still in that room, but he did recall darkness, and then eventual light creeping in again. He deduced that probably a day had gone by ever since Bulma left the room with Trunks in tow, and that he was still in the same place he was when she walked out.

While he knew she was upset with him, he didn't expect her to actually tell him that he wasn't needed. And while she didn't say it, she did imply that she wanted him out of her house. She no longer wanted to provide for him, no longer saw a use for his company, and was willing to step out to the world alone with her son.

After spending time with her sporadically for three years, he knew Bulma Brief to be a proud woman, one who never wanted her reputation tarnished. He remembered when she left the Weakling, it was all over the news, and she had addressed the issue with authority and grace to the public. He remembered when she had told him she was carrying his child, and that she insisted that the child's birth remain private and away from prying eyes. And he remembered when she told him that she was going to keep their relationship secret; he was no fan of publicity, but he also had a small nagging feeling of contempt that she wanted to keep him secret, as if he weren't good enough for her.

But now, she was willing to expose all of that. She was willing to reveal to the public that she was a mother to a son who was almost two years of age, that she had an affair for the past three years with an unknown man who had abandoned her.

She was willing to give him up without a second thought, the way he had treated her for the past few years.

When he was the one doing the abandoning, the only thought in his mind was that he needed to focus on himself, and didn't need the distraction of a woman and her child. Now, on the receiving end of such abandonment, he felt empty, alone, and rejected. Did Trunks from the future feel this way when they first met?

In the future, the boy had his mother. And now, it seemed as though history were coming true - the boy would have his mother, and he would be out of the picture.

It was what he wanted, wasn't it? He recalled the memory of Bulma's aircraft pummeling towards doom, and he remembered he ignored it, until the boy from the future had saved the woman and her baby. And he remembered his reply when the boy asked why he didn't step up to the plate to save them. He remembered why, quite clearly.

Ever since he learned of her pregnancy, he began to separate himself from her more and more - it was for the best. He didn't want her around him, he needed to achieve the coveted Super Saiyan, and, most importantly, he didn't _want_ a family. He didn't want the responsibility, the sense of belonging, and he didn't want their reliance of him.

He walked over towards the now empty crib, spying the wrinkled sheets and blankets that lay there forlornly. He ran his hands across the bar of the crib, tracing the grain of the wood with his fingertips.

Perhaps he didn't want any of that family bullshit, but his family had wanted _him_. They had craved his attention, and he brushed them away. They had wanted his care, and he left them to train himself to greater heights. But now, perhaps he wanted them just a little. And they wanted nothing from him.

She was right - of course she was right. Bulma was _always_ right. She was right about Dr. Gero's androids, she was right about how his obsessive training would cause him bodily and emotional grief, and she was right about _him_. If Bulma said she didn't need him, she had to be right. There was no need she had of him. She would have her own family, just as she would have her son. She would have her wealth, her intelligence, her technology, and her own life without him. He spent the last three years living for him, and now, she was making it clear to him that she was doing the same.

She had insisted that he go. But just a little part of him didn't want to comply with her wishes. While he respected her enough to listen to her, he couldn't bring himself to move from the room. He had nowhere to go. He had no home. He had no family. He had nothing.

Except that wasn't true, and he was still trying to wrap his head around those thoughts. He _did_ have a home. He _did_ have a family. And he had everything, because of his home and family. He had wanted for nothing - if she were demanding his absence from her home, it was his own fault, his own making, which had led her to such animosity towards him.

Vegeta continued to trace his fingers along the grain, his concentration being taken over by his reflective thoughts. He wasn't aware of the woman and her child, outside of the room, peeking in from the small crack left by the door. He wasn't aware of the look of disturbance and curiosity she wore on her face as she contemplated his presence in the room.

* * *

It was only the scent of a freshly cooked meal that got him out of his reverie. By now, he had no clue as to how long he had been in Trunks' bedroom and no idea how he went from the crib to sitting cross-legged in the corner by the bed stand.

"Here," Bulma said, handing a plate piled with goods to him. "You must be hungry."

He grunted his gratitude, taking the plate slowly from her, his eyes locked on hers. He raised an eyebrow questioningly at her.

"You haven't moved for the last three and a half days," she replied flippantly, settling down next to him. "Not even for _food_. That's vey unlike you."

"Where is the boy?" he asked, picking up the fork as he slowly began to shovel the food into his mouth.

"Mom took him to lunch with the girls. She's showing him off."

He nodded. He looked ahead to the wall facing them, and they both let the silence drag out.

"I assume this will be my last meal here," Vegeta said, swallowing a particularly large mouthful.

She didn't respond, but looked in the same direction his gaze was in. For a woman who always had something to say in any situation, he was unnerved by her silence.

"Isn't it?"

He noticed that she was biting her lower lip, a look of contemplation playing on her face. He waited patiently for her to say something that might reflect her thoughts.

"Why are you here?" she suddenly demanded, her calm demeanor changing into one of anger and exasperation. "You're not supposed to _be_ here!"

He raised an eyebrow at her, but continued eating. He knew she wasn't done reprimanding him, so he remained quiet so that she could continue on her tirade.

"I _told_ you we didn't need you here anymore. You owe us nothing, and I would never ask anything of you that I know you'd be unwilling to give. _I_ _get_ _it_, _Vegeta_. You didn't want to be here, so I gave you a free pass. So why are you still _here_?"

He grunted in response, which only spurred on her frustration.

"I know that I'm the one who invited you to stay here, but I'll have you know that I had a perfectly good life before you came along!"

"With that Weakling?" Vegeta asked, his voice acidic and scratchy from his three-day silence. "Doubtful."

She chose to ignore his comment. "I don't want you here in my house, Vegeta. I _can't_ have you here, under the same roof as me."

Vegeta put aside the now empty plate to his side, before glancing at the woman beside him. Her breathing was shallow, the last statement she gave was said far too quickly without him being suspicious, and there was a tinge of pink gathering around her cheeks.

"Elaborate, I cannot read minds."

She glared at him. "_You_ _need_ _to_ _leave_."

He pursed his lips. "I can understand why you would want me to leave. But I am unsure why my leaving would be an absolute necessity."

"It's necessary for my sanity," she replied, rolling her eyes at him. "You being here is making me more crazy than anything else ever has." When he said nothing, she continued, "I don't think I'd be able to handle seeing you every day. You would just be a reminder that I'm worthless, of no use, and a constant interference with your life."

He had finally turned his head completely towards her now. For all the time he had known this woman, she had always been confident, unbreakable. She had an ego that could rival his own, and the skill and knowledge to back it up. But to hear her admit that she felt worthless? That was beyond strange.

"You think you're worthless?"

She sucked hr teeth, making a derisive noise. "I don't think I'm worthless. But knowing that you think so makes _me_ feel like crap."

"I hardly said such nonsense, woman," Vegeta said, his tone accusing. "You can think what _you_ want, but _I_ never said it."

"Some things don't need to be said, Vegeta. The fact that you walked out on me and your son speaks _volumes_ of the way you feel about us."

He couldn't think of anything to say to that. She was right. He had walked out on her, and he had walked out on his son. But he was back, wasn't he?

"I'm here _now_, Bulma."

She stared intently at him, as if she were trying to deduce whether or not he was lying. Finally, she let out a sigh. "You're here now, Vegeta. But what about tomorrow? Next week? Next month? A year from now?"

"I don't know," he answered honestly, pulling up a knee and resting an arm on it.

"And there is my point," Bulma said her voice hardened by frustration. "I can't count on you to be there when you're needed."

"What use would I be to you?"

"You are the father of my child. I need you to be there for Trunks. If you don't want to be with me, if you don't want to be there for me, then I will not hold you captive. But for the sake of my son, I _do_ need you."

Vegeta ground his teeth together. The more she spoke, the guiltier he became, a feeling he was never comfortable with, as it hit too close to home of being in someone's debt.

"I don't want you around if you're not even going to make an effort to be something to our family," Bulma said quietly. Her hand inched towards him, but she stopped right before she was able to touch him. They both stared at her hand.

"This is a _home_, Vegeta. Not a house, not a place to bunk in whenever you feel like it. It's a home - _my_ home, _Trunks'_ home - and if you don't want us, then I don't want you in our home."

He was still looking at her hand when he said, "I have no home."

She paused briefly, a look of pity on her face, before she said, "No, you don't."

He looked at her from underneath his brows. "For the last three years, I have called Earth home. I have called Capsule Corp home. And now you tell me this is not my home."

She rubbed her eyes with the palm of her other hand. "How can Capsule Corp be your home if you keep running away from it? How can Capsule Corp be your home if you refuse to acknowledge the people who live here? How can _my_ home be _your_ home when you act as though my son and I mean nothing to you?"

He watched as she got up and paced around the room. "Do you even know what a home _is_, Vegeta?"

A place to sleep. A place to eat. A place to store all of one's belongings.

If was as if she read his thoughts; she narrowed her eyes at him. "A home is a place of belonging. A home is a place where you feel safe and secure. Home is where your family is."

She looked at him expectantly, but he offered no response. So she asked him, "_My_ family is here, Vegeta. Where is _yours_?"

He turned his head off to the side, as frustrated as she was. He didn't know the answer to that question. He doubted he ever will, unless he stayed behind. And, surprisingly, after days of contemplation, he had come to the conclusion that he _did_ want to stay.

When he didn't answer within a few minutes, he heard her sigh again. She brushed her shoulder-length hair with her fingers, and gave him one last, long look before she made her way out of the room again.

"What do I need to do to make you believe in me?" he finally asked, still shying away from her question. The only way he could ever answer that was if he stayed. And he needed to stay, not because he had nowhere to go, but because just a tiny part of him felt he belonged there.

She paused at the entrance, her hand against the door frame. She didn't answer him right away, and kept her posture stiff and straight.

"Seeing is believing."

* * *

She hadn't spoken to him in three months. It was something he noticed quite distinctly, and it bothered him.

Even though she had requested he leave the compound, she did nothing to stop him from staying. Instead, she had gone her way, pretending as if he didn't exist. His meals were still laid out for him, his laundry was still washed, his Gravity Room was still monitored, but other than that, it was as if he wasn't even there.

Vegeta didn't know what to think of this new attitude Bulma had adapted. The old him would've been grateful that he was basically given free room and board, that nobody expected anything from him, and that he was free to do as he pleased, in and out of the house.

However, post-Cell Games, he felt a change in himself. Kakarot was gone; there was no more point really, in training since the one man he wanted to fight would never come back. He was restless with the lack of company, his former lover went on with her life and left him behind, and his son was probably unaware that he even existed.

He didn't like the situation one bit.

She had said that seeing is believing. Wasn't he doing everything he could to prove that? He stayed behind, for crying out loud! He tried to engage her in conversation, only to have her walk past him as though he were just another piece of furniture. He spent an hour every night with the boy while he slept, keeping the child company, if nothing else. He didn't know what else to do.

But to her, seeing was believing. And he was never one to give up on a challenge, no matter how ridiculous it was. So he resolved to keep trying, if not to prove her wrong, then at least to earn the right to stay, and call this forsaken place a home.

* * *

"You're still here."

"Yes, I am."

"_Why_?"

He didn't immediately respond to this question. He felt her eyes on him; he couldn't tell whether she was upset or not this time. They were both standing once more in Trunks' bedroom, but while she was wavering around near the door frame, he was looming over the crib, watching the child sleep.

"Trunks is mine as much as he is yours," Vegeta finally said, not looking up.

"I _know_ that," she replied stiffly, walking into the room towards him. "I've been trying to tell _you_ that since he was born. You chose to ignore me."

"I regret my behaviour, then."

She made a noise, causing him to look at her. He saw that she rolled her eyes. "You can't just discount your behaviour and think everything will be fine, Vegeta. Life isn't that easy, not even for the Prince of Saiyans."

He narrowed his eyes at her sarcasm, but swallowed the insult he was about to give. Now was not the time for verbal sparring.

"You haven't spoken to me in the last four months. Why do you choose _tonight_ to change your course?" he asked, folding his arms together, his feet in defensive stance. He looked at her expectantly.

"I find it unnerving that you have stayed for so long, and wanted to know why," she answered, her own arms crossing. "Why are you choosing to stay, when I have given you leave to go? Nobody would be upset if you do."

"_I_ would," he murmured, averting his gaze. He didn't want to look at her as he said it because she made him feel uneasy.

"_You_ _would_?" She sounded far too curious for her own good.

"You were _wrong_, woman," he said scathingly, his arms uncrossing, his hands forming into fists at his sides. "You were wrong."

"Enlighten me, prince."

He cursed underneath his breath before he responded. "The boy is _my_ son too. And this is _my_ home."

She raised an irritating eyebrow at him, her tongue in her cheek.

"_You_ invited me here, Bulma. _You_ allowed me to stay with you. And I have formed a home here."

"A home is not a place where you freely come and go without _any_ consideration - "

"How do you know I have not factored you and the boy in my life?" he bit out, a bit harshly, annoyed that she had interrupted him. "How do you know that I do not value this compound, and everything that comes with it?"

Her voice shook with a feeling he couldn't name as she said, "Because if you held _any_ value to this place, then you wouldn't have left _me_. If you held any value to this place, you would've _willingly_ looked after your son. And if held any value to this place, then you would've done all you could to protect us!"

"How do you know I didn't protect you or your son?" Vegeta shot back, his head now inches away from her. He snarled. "You were not at the battle. What do _you_ know?"

"You're right. I wasn't at the battle. I have no idea what happened." Her face flushed with years of anger towards him, and she breathed heavily. "Maybe if you opened up for once in your sorry life, then you can help me understand."

"He _died_!" Vegeta yelled, the force of his voice making the woman stumble back a few steps. "That boy - from the future, he _died_!"

"I know that," she said solemnly. She quickly glanced at the sleeping baby, and let out a sigh of relief. "I know."

"But you didn't _watch_ him die!" he continued, his eyesight now blurry at he continued his rant. "_You_ _weren't_ _there_! You don't know what it's like, to witness the death of your only son! You don't understand the turmoil and the grief that goes through you when you realize that you outlive your own child, knowing that he should rightfully outlive _you_! As hard as it for you to believe, I _do_ have feelings! You dare tell me I have no consideration? If I hadn't considered you, then you and this infant would not be here today!"

He had moved closer to her the angrier he got, and to Bulma's credit, she barely moved back to accommodate his presence.

"I _tried_, did you know that? I tried to avenge his death. Perhaps I did not acknowledge him as my son at first, perhaps I was selfish. But that doesn't mean I don't care!"

He stood face to face with her, his own breathing unsteady after the yelling episode. She looked back at him defiantly, her own chest moving rapidly up and down, contemplating what he had just revealed to her. Both stood without knowing what to say, because there was nothing else left to speak of.

The yelling and commotion had caused the baby to awake, having been disturbed from what had been a peaceful slumber. Trunks wailed and thrashed around his crib, crying to be picked up and comforted. However, before Bulma could make a move towards her son, the saiyan had grunted, turned on his heels, and headed towards the crib himself. He gingerly picked up the child, hooking his hands beneath Trunks' arms, and held him until the boy hung in the air, facing his father.

"Stop that crying, boy," Vegeta muttered, glaring at his son. "Your added noise is unnecessary."

When the baby began to slowly cease his crying, the saiyan held the boy, cradling him in one of his heavily muscled arms. He walked back towards the woman in the room.

Again, he stood facing her, except now, he took note of the fact that both their breathing had calmed down. Their heads were probably clearing, and their rage was deflating. He stood there watching her watch him, silently, unsure of what to say or do.

He had no idea how many minutes or hours passed, as he stood there looking at the woman he had once called a lover. He noticed the dark circles beneath her eyes, the cracked skin on her hands from the repair work she had been doing too much of recently, her blue hair that was once all her pride glory, that now hung limp and loose past her shoulder blades. She was getting thin, and not in a good way, and she was neglecting her own well-being for whatever reason. He had a feeling the reason was him.

"I don't know what to do anymore," she eventually said, her voice helpless and lost.

And for the first time since he could remember, neither did he.

* * *

He found her, later that night, in her bedroom, flipping through pages of a beauty magazine. However, while she usually perused the garbage with utmost interest, he saw that she flipped each page robotically, not taking any notice of the content.

He cleared his throat, which caused her to jump and clutch at the pillow lying by her side. She gave a look of alarm, until she realized that it was him.

He noticed that she didn't invite him in. He didn't want to make their situation any worse than it already was, and so he remained by the door

"For the sake of your son, I will stay," he said, looking directly into her eyes. "I will stay and care for the boy, and I will do my duty to him as his father."

She looked at him curiously, her mouth slightly open. He stood there, waiting for her to say something.

"He's your son too, Vegeta."

He laughed bitterly at this comment. "Four months ago, you said something that would've contradicted that."

"Four months ago, I was angry. Four months later, I am hopeful."

"Hn."

She sat upright in her bed, playing with a strand of her hair. He watched mesmerized at the way the hair looped and twirled around her slender finger.

"He's your son too."

"No," he said, as he turned away from her. But he glanced at her over his shoulder, and said, "He is not my son until I earn that privilege."

And with that, he turned and walked back into the hallway, making for his own room.

* * *

A year later, Vegeta could honestly say that he was getting used to being a father.

He wasn't much of a _dad_, but he was a _father_. And a pretty good one, at that.

The boy was almost three by now; his speech patterns were by far superior to that of an average small Earthling, he was already showing signs of a great warrior, and he was much too intelligent for his own good.

Vegeta was satisfied.

He had just put the boy to bed after a demanding day of training in the basics of combat, and was shutting the door to the bedroom behind him, when the boy's mother had walked by and stood in front of him.

"He looked exhausted during dinner tonight," Bulma said conversationally, glancing at the door before looking at him.

"Hn. We started learning the basics today," he replied, crossing his arms.

"Basics?"

"Stance, footing, attacks, drills."

"Oh," she said, nodding along. "I'm sure he enjoyed that."

"Actually, he did _not_," Vegeta said, rolling his eyes at no one in particular. "He complained through most of it."

"And I'm sure you reprimanded him through _all_ of it."

He smirked at this comment. She was correct.

He raised an acknowledging eyebrow at her, before stepping sideways to head down the halls. He needed a shower, after having Trunks grab at him with his grubby hands, and the boy wiping his tears all over his training suit.

"Vegeta!" Bulma called out hesitantly. He stopped, but didn't turn around, waiting for her to catch up to him. "Wait, I want to speak with you."

When she was finally beside him, he cocked another eyebrow at her, but this one was questioning. For an entire year, she had avoided direct conversation with him, had done her best to address him as little as possible, and made it more than obvious that she was testing him on his fathering abilities. She had never once let on that she wanted to speak to him.

"What?" he asked bluntly, leaning a shoulder against the wall.

She pursed her lips, playing nervously with her fingers. Except for their initial meeting, he couldn't ever remember her being nervous around him.

"I just... I just - "

He gave her a condescending look, which she didn't take lightly.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Vegeta, stop _looking_ at me like that!" she cried, swatting him on the arm. He rolled his eyes at her.

"What?" he asked again, sounding tired and worn out from the day's activities.

She gave him a long hard look, before shaking her head and smiling slightly. "Nothing, never mind."

"_Spit it out, woman_!" he growled, blocking her from getting away. "I know you have something to say."

"Geez, control your temper," she said hastily, rubbing an arm with her hand. "I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry."

This caught his attention. "_What_?"

Now it was her turn to roll her eyes at him. "You heard me, Vegeta. I said I'm sorry."

"For what?"

She gave him a guilty look, mumbling, "For treating you so poorly this past year, when you have been nothing short of caring towards my son."

He opened his mouth to reply, but she cut him off. "And also, I accept that I am wrong about you. You were right - this compound _is_ your home. It is where your son is, and it is where you belong."

Vegeta bit his upper lip, absorbing what she had just said to him. He stood there with her for a few uncomfortable minutes. It was longest she had been in the same vicinity as him for the period of a whole year, and he wasn't sure what to do.

"Thank you," he finally said, his voice stilted.

"No," she said, smiling at him. "Thank _you_, for being here for your son."

"_Hn_." It was getting to awkward now, and he wished for nothing else but a long hot shower, and a second round of tonight's dinner. He glanced sideways, and she took the hint, stepping back to make room for his getaway.

He watched as she gave him one last smile, before walking in the opposite direction of where he was headed. She was just about to turn the corner, when he stopped her.

"You're wrong, woman."

She froze in her tracks, before turning back slowly to face him, confusion written all over her face. "Wrong about my apology?"

He snorted at her, and stalked towards her. "No, you idiot. You're wrong about _me_."

"Seems like I'm wrong about you a lot recently."

He ignored this comment, and continued with his own thoughts. "You were right to acknowledge that this is my home. It is where my son is, and it is where I belong."

"Then what am I wrong about?"

He gave her a reproving stare. "You neglect to mention that my family is here as well."

"No I didn't, I said your son was here."

He leaned forwards until his face was practically touching hers. "My son is here, but so are the rest of my family."

It took a while before his words registered with her, and he watched until the realization dawned on her face. She had been staring intently at his mouth the entire time, and had only just hesitantly looked up into his eyes.

"Oh," she said, her mouth small and round. Her surprise managed to help her keep it slightly open.

"_Indeed_," he replied, smirking into her eyes. He noticed that her eyes were beginning to close, as she tilted her lips up towards his.

"I told you that I was staying for the sake of the _boy_," he murmured softly, before she could manage to get her mouth to his. She jerked back instantly.

"What?" she asked, slightly dazed. He offered her no answer, but only grinned wickedly. "Ugh, you are such a _jerk_, Vegeta! What about all that family crap you just spewed out seconds ago?"

He shrugged nonchalantly, crossing his arms across his chest, looking highly amused.

"Woman, for the past year and four months, you made it perfectly clear that you wished to have nothing to do with me," he said, raising an arrogant eyebrow at her. He watched as her cheeks puffed endearingly. "You had no desire to talk to me, let along _look_ at me. And now you want to engage in intimate acts with me?"

She snarled. "Don't flatter yourself, prince. A kiss is in no way an intimate act!"

He smiled slowly at her, making her twitch even more nervously than before. "I beg to differ, Brief. I can recall _many_ kisses between us that were far too intimate."

She bristled underneath his gaze, but didn't turn away. "Do you want a family or not?" she demanded, hands forming into fists.

"I already consider you, the boy, and your challenging parents as family. Perhaps you should be asking _yourself_ that question instead," he said evenly, staring at her intently.

"I _do_," she replied quickly, avoiding his gaze, opting to stare at her feet instead. "I want a family."

"Then perhaps you should stop acting so cold around me before you start your feeble attempts at intimacy with me."

She pursed her lips once more, lifting her head to narrow her eyes at him. "Are you opposed to having a relationship with _me_, Vegeta?"

"I don't know," he answered truthfully, uncrossing his arms and letting them hang to the side. "You are still holding resentment towards me."

She nodded, biting her lip. "Yes, that's true. But I'm willing to look past that and work on a relationship for the sake of my family."

He grunted, looking doubtful. Her resentment was much too strong for her to just drop like a hat, and too much had happened in their year-long cold war for them to ignore the past.

"I don't know how to proceed," he admitted grudgingly, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "I don't know what you want me to do."

"Well," she announced, giving him her trademark grin, "_I_ do."

"Elaborate."

She shrugged her shoulders, offering up her palms at him. "Can't."

"Then what is it that you propose we do?"

She cocked her head to the side as she peered at him, as if wondering if he was truly up to the challenge of starting a family. He was late by three years, but she had always maintained that it was always better late than never.

He watched her, his eyebrow rising on its own accord. She began to walk towards him, and only stopped until she was directly in front of him. She laid her hand on top of one of his, and squeezed lightly.

"We'll do what we always do, Vegeta," she said, her voice betraying no emotion whatsoever. "We'll start from scratch."


End file.
